"
"All right!" And Pete rolled a smoke as the sheriff picked up several
addressed letters and tucked them in his pocket. "I was goin' over to
the post-office, anyway."
They crossed to the shady side of the street, the short, ruddy little
sheriff and the tall, dark cowboy, each more noticeable by contrast,
yet neither consciously aware of the curious glances cast at them by
occasional townsfolk, some of whom were small enough to suspect that
Pete and the sheriff had collaborated in presenting the evidence which
had made Pete a free man; and that they were still collaborating, as
they seemed very friendly toward each other.
Pete tried on several hats and finally selected one. "Let's see how it
looks on you," he said, handing it to the sheriff. "I don't know how
she looks."
Owen tried the hat on, turning to look into the mirror at the end of
the counter. Pete casually picked up the sheriff's old hat and glanced
at the size.
"Reckon I'll take it," said Pete, as Owen returned it. "This here one
of mine never did fit too good. It was Andy's hat."
Certain male gossips who infested the groceries, pool-halls, and
post-office of Sanborn, shook their heads and talked gravely about
bribery and corruption and politics and what not, when they learned
that the sheriff had actually bought a hat for that young outlaw that
he was so mighty thick with.
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