Enoch rode up slowly and dismounted stiffly. "Good evening," he said.
The two men stared at him frankly. "Good evening, stranger!"
"John Red Sun told me to ask you people for work in return for
permission to trail with your outfit."
"Oh, he did, did he!" grunted the older man, eying Enoch intently. "My
name is Mackay, and my pardner's is Field."
"Mine is Smith," said Enoch.
"Just Smith?" grinned the man Field.
"Just Smith," repeated Enoch firmly.
"Well, Mr. Just Smith," Mackay nodded affably, as though pleased by his
appraisal of the newcomer, "wipe your feet on the door mat and come in
and have supper with us. We'll talk while we eat."
"You're very kind," murmured Enoch. "I--er--I'm a tenderfoot, so
perhaps you'd tell me, shall I hobble this horse or--"
"I'll take care of him for you," said Field. "You look dead tuckered.
Sit down till supper's ready."
Enoch sat down on a rock and eyed his prospective bosses. Mackay was a
tall, thin man of perhaps fifty. He was smooth shaven except for an
iron gray mustache. His face was thin, tanned and heavily lined, and
his keen gray eyes were deep set under huge, shaggy eyebrows. He wore
a gray flannel shirt and a pair of well worn brown corduroys, tucked
into the tops of a pair of ordinary shoes.
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