"Well, that was mighty thoughtful. I plumb forgot it."
CHAPTER XVIII
JOE SCOTT
Just before daybreak Cheyenne turned from the road and picked his way
through the scattered brush to a gulch in the western foothills.
Cheyenne's horses seemed to know the place, when they stopped at a
narrow, pole gate across the upper end of the gulch, for on beyond the
gate the horses again stopped of their own accord. Bartley could barely
discern the outlines of a cabin. Cheyenne hallooed.
A muffled answer from the cabin, then a twinkle of light, then the open
doorway framing a gigantic figure.
"That you, Shy?" queried the figure.
"Me and a friend."
"You're kind of early," rumbled the figure as the riders dismounted.
"Shucks! You'd be gettin' up, anyway, right soon. We come early so as
not to delay your breakfast."
In the cabin, Cheyenne and the big man shook hands. Bartley was
introduced. The man was a miner, named Joe Scott.
"Joe, here, is a minin' man--when he ain't runnin' a all-night
lunch-stand," explained Cheyenne. "He can't work his placer when it's
dark, but he sure can work a skillet and a coffee-mill.
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