linen jacket. "Pretty shy of headlines," he chuckled. "Nothing but a few
personals."

"No murders, no lynchings, nor merry cowboys on bucking broncos shooting
up the town?" exclaimed Hanson, in affected dismay. "My! My! What is
the West coming to? I'm afraid you ain't serving them the right kind of
poison, Jimmy."

"It's so bad I won't touch it myself." Jimmy defended himself with
professional pride. "Have some?"

"Not I. I got to be going, anyway."

Seeing that Hanson was about to follow this intention, Jimmy drew forth
his first nut. "Bob Flick got back last night," he said, and then,
abashed by the meagerness of this bit of information, attempted to
enhance its value. "I'd like to know," leaning his elbow on the bar and
his chin in his hand, "I'd like to know where he went and what he went
for."

Hanson did not alter his lounging pose and yet, indefinably, his
attitude became more tense, as if, in a quick riveting of attention,
every sense had become alert. "He's doing a good mining business, ain't
he?" he spoke carelessly. "I should think there would be a good many
things that would take him out of Paloma."

"Oh, 'course," conceded Jimmy, "but don't you know how you kind of feel
things sometimes. Well, you listen to me, there's something queer about
this trip." He half closed his eyes and shook his head mysteriously.