"
"There are six ways to travel from here,"--and the sheriff's eyes
twinkled.
"Six? Now I figured about four."
"Six. When it comes to direction, the old Hopis had us beat by a
couple of trails. They figured east, west, north, and south, straight
down and straight up."
"I git you, Jim. Well, minin' never did interest me none--and as for
flyin', I sure been popped as high as I want to go. I reckon I'll jest
let my hoss have his head. I reckon him and me has got about the same
idee of what looks good."
"That pony of yours has never been in El Paso, has he?" queried the
sheriff.
"Nope. Reckon it would be mighty interestin' for him--and the folks
that always figured a sidewalk was jest for folks and not for
hosses--but I ain't lookin' for excitement, nohow."
"Reckon that blue roan will give you all you want, any way you ride.
He hasn't been ridden since you left him here."
"Yes--and it sure makes me sore. Doc Andover said I was to keep off a
hoss for a week yet. Sanborn is all right--but settin' on that hotel
porch lookin' at it ain't."
"Well, I'd do what the Doc says, just the same.
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