The plump man laid the handkerchief upon the slick of vomit, picked up his end of the trunk and departed with the strong one and Dicky. Behind them upon the cobblestone street remained the poorly covered mess.
CHAPTER SIX
Old Cards
Dicky frowned at his poor hand—a motley trio and a pair of fives—and looked up from his cards. “Do you think Lingham might be working an angle on us?”
The low sun pouring in through the train window threw half of Oswell’s leathery face into shadow and brightly divined the white hairs that sprouted intermittently amongst the light brown ones.
The rancher did not look up from his hand when he replied. “We’re playing cards.”
“I can do both simultaneously—talk and play cards. Many folks can.”
“We’re playing cards so we don’t have to talk.”
“Do you think this
