But without any way of being sure about that, all he could do for the moment was play along.
“That’s right, just passing through,” he said.
“If you’re lookin’ for a ridin’ job, there ain’t many to be had hereabouts,” the tall cowboy told him. “We ain’t lookin’, in particular, ’cause our dinero ain’t run out yet. But Flat Rock’s a good place to be if you’re aimin’ to make some money. It just looks like a sleepy little burg. Lots of excitin’ things goin’ on in this town, yes, sir.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” Sam said. He was about to decide that these two men were just the pair of harmless cowpokes they appeared to be, although he couldn’t rule out anything else. He nodded toward the door of the cafe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m a mite hungry ...”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” the shorter man said. “Best chow in town.”
“I’m obliged,” Sam said. He took a step toward the door.
“Say,” the tall man spoke up, “I don’t mean no offense, but you look like you got some Injun blood in you.”
Sam stopped.
“I’m half Cheyenne,” he said. He had never denied or been ashamed of his heritage.
The tall man grinned.
“I’m an eighth Cherokee, myself. Like I said, no offense meant, just curious. Only way a fella really finds out anything is by askin’ questions.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Sam grasped the doorknob and nodded to the two men. “So long.”
He opened the door and went inside before the talkative cowboys could say anything else.
Sleepy little burg or not, the cafe was doing good business in this noon hour. Half a dozen tables covered with blue-checked tablecloths were occupied, and the stools along the counter were almost all full.
Sam took one that wasn’t and sat down between a burly man who looked like a freighter and a smaller gent in a suit and rimless spectacles.
The freighter, if that’s what he was, ignored Sam, but the other man nodded and said, “Hello.” His formerly stiff collar had wilted in the heat.
Sam returned the nod.
“Afternoon.”
The man held out his hand.
“Noah Reilly.”
Sam shook the townsman’s hand and introduced himself.
“I’m Sam Two Wolves.”
“That’s certainly a colorful and unusual name.”
Sam shrugged.
“Not where I come from.”
“Where’s that?”
“Montana,” Sam said without going into any more details. Folks in Flat Rock seemed to be a friendly, inquisitive bunch.
“I’ve never been to Montana. From everything I’ve heard, I’m sure it’s beautiful up there. More beautiful than this part of Arizona, anyway.”
A middle-aged counterman with gray hair and a white apron came over and said, “Noah, quit yam-merin’ at this fella. He probably came in for something to eat, not a lot of talk.”
“No, that’s all right, really,” Sam said as he saw the contrite expression that appeared on the bespectacled man’s face. “I don’t mind talking. But I would like something to eat.”
“Lunch special’s chicken and dumplin’s,” the counterman told him.
Sam nodded and said, “That’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Comin’ up.”
As the counterman turned to the pass-through window that led to the kitchen, Noah Reilly pointed to the empty bowl in front of him and told Sam, “I had the chicken and dumplings. Delicious. You’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will. What do you do for a living, Mr. Reilly?”
“You can call me Noah. I work at the general store.”
Sam had taken the man for a clerk of some sort, so he wasn’t surprised by Reilly’s answer.
“I’ll bet you know everybody in town, then.”
Reilly grinned.
“All the ones who have any money to spend, anyway.” He laughed at his own mild wit.
“You probably don’t get a lot of strangers riding through Flat Rock.”
“No, not as out of the way as we are here. Most people have to have a good reason to come to Flat Rock, or they’d never even hear of it. But people always need supplies, and this is the only place in fifty or sixty miles to get them.”
