through.

"You're ridin' right to home!" laughed the cow-boy. "You just light
down and we'll trail over to Chola Charley's and prospect a tub of
frijoles. The dinner-bell when you are broke is plumb correct. Got
any more of that po'try broke to ride gentle?"

"Uhuh. Say, how far is it to the next town?"

"Comin' or goin'?"

"Goin'."

"'Bout seventy-three miles, but there's nothin' doin' there. Worse'n
this."

"Looks like me for a job, or the next rattler goin' west. Any chanct
for a cook here?"

"Nope. All Mexican cooks. But say, I reckon you _might_ tie up over
to the Concho. Hearn tell that Jack Corliss wants a cook. Seems his
ole stand-by Hi Wingle's gone to Phoenix on law business. Jack's a
good boss to tie to. Worked for him myself."

"How far to his place?" queried Sundown.

"Sixty miles, straight south."

"Gee Gosh! Looks like the towns was scared of each other in this here
country. Who'd you say raises them frijoles?"