Pete was also picking invisible peaches from the air, which further
confirmed Forbes's hasty conclusion that they were both doing the right
thing.
"_I ain't got a gun on me, Ed._" Pete had spoken slowly and
distinctly, and apparently without the least shadow of trepidation.
Forbes, gazing at the grim, bronzed face of the strange horseman,
nervously echoed Pete's statement. Before the Easterner could realize
what had actually happened, Pete and the strange rider had dismounted
and were shaking hands: a transition so astonishing that Forbes forgot
to lower his hands and sat with them nervously aloft as though
imploring the Rain-God not to forget his duty to mankind.
Pete and the stranger were talking. Forbes could catch an occasional
word, such as "The Spider--El
Paso--White-Eye--Hospital--Sonora--Sanborn--Sam Brent--"
Pete turned and grinned. "I reckon you can let go the--your holt, Doc.
This here is a friend of mine."
Forbes sighed thankfully. He was introduced to the friend, whom Pete
called Ed, but whose name had been suddenly changed to Bill. "We used
to ride together," explained Pete.
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