He didn't like to be thanked, and he
avoided even the shadow of sentimentality with Jones. After all, they were
two young fellows, playing a big game together, taking big chances; and
what was the use of talking about it? "What are you going to tell the
Pells?" he suddenly asked, glad to get off the immediate subject.
"Pells?"
"Say, I'm goin' to poke that bird in the beak some day!" "Red" declared.
Jones smiled. "What's he done to you?"
"Nothin'. He'd better not. It's the way he treats his wife. She's so darn
game, too. I wouldn't treat a horse the way he treats her. Well, what are
you goin' to tell them?"
Gilbert stood perfectly still. He was in deep thought. Finally he spoke.
"I'm going to tell them I'm going away--important business."
"East?" "Red" asked. He had seated himself at the table, and picked up
Gilbert's pen, and began making curious little scrawls with it on a piece
of paper, as a business man sometimes does when he is telephoning.
"No. West," answered Jones. "They're going East."
"What are you going to do?" "Red" was amused rather than alarmed.
"Oh, I'll get a job somewhere. Punch cows--or maybe join the rangers.
There's always something a fellow can do.
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