And say, wouldn't it be lucky, though, if he could meet a
real nice girl about now?"
Steve leaned back and gave way to rare and subdued laughter. It was
much as though he did not want the sound to penetrate to that dark end
room in the shack beyond. And then he was quickly sober-faced again.
"I think he is going to, Joe. I think I may promise that he is likely
to, very, very soon. And it will make a difference--a mighty big
difference for Garry. For, if you don't mind my mentioning the matter
again, in spite of the preachments of many of your novelists to the
contrary, it's just about as Garry has argued it to be. Most men are
just as fine--just as decent--as women demand they shall be."
He lifted the revolver and tossed it negligently across the room. It
struck with a thud in the middle of his own bunk.
"Where did he get that six-shooter? It looks like one of yours?"
"It is," said Joe. "Nothing gaudy nor ornamental, but a right handy
thing. And, there! That's another error I made, ain't it? I reckon
it's going to be difficult for me to get used to the idea of any man
being a dangerous enemy to himself. I gave it to him the first day he
went to work."
Joe's eyes traveled across to the object under discussion.
"Harrigan came back before you did," his explanation seemed to veer to
another quarter. "He was most punctual, I'd say, wouldn't you? He
came in tuned up real melodious on the last load with Big Louie.
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