"Set up!" grinned the tall man, kicking a small box up beside a slightly
larger one, which served as a table. "Nothing much to eat but food.
Canned truck all gone."

The smaller host poured coffee. Pete considered the boxes.

"You didn't pack these over here?" he asked, prodding the table with his
boot-toe to elucidate his meaning. "And yet I didn't see no wheel marks
as I come along."

"Fetch 'em from Silverbell. We got a sort of wagon track through the
hills. Closer than Cobre. Some wagon road in the rough places! Snakes
thick on the east side; but they don't never get over here. Break their
backs comin' through the gap. Yes, sir!"

"Then I'll just june along in the cool of the evenin'," observed Pete,
ladling out a second helping of jerked venison. "I can follow your wagon
tracks into town. I ain't never been to Silverbell. Was afraid I might
miss it in the dark. How far is it? About twenty mile, I reckon?"

"Just about. Shucks! I was in hopes you'd stay overnight with us. Bill
and me, we ain't seen no one since Columbus crossed the Delaware in
fourteen-ninety-two. Can't ye, now?" urged the tall man coaxingly. "We'll
pitch horseshoes--play cards if you want to; only Bill and me's pretty
well burnt out at cards. Fox and geese too--ever play fox and geese?
We got a dandy fox-and-goose board--but Bill, he natcherly can't play.
He's from California, Bill is."

"Aw, shut up on that!" growled Bill.