tank watched the stranger walk up the highway, and stop when he reached the road to the site.
tank was sitting in front of the gate on a folding chair, about seventy-five yards up the dusty winding road.
the gate across the road was a plain wooden one, unpainted. tank did not have a weapon or a phone, at least none visible.
overhead the sky was peaceful, with neither clouds nor birds,
the stranger looked around like he was deciding what to do, then turned and started up the road.
howdy, the stranger smiled when he got to tank.
tank did not smile back. what can i do for you?
i was wondering if you were doing any hiring?
hiring? what gives you the idea there is any hiring to be done, or anybody to do it?
i just thought there might be. no harm in asking.
nobody put the idea in your head?
at that filling station about two miles back, they said something about a site.
they did, did they? and did they say the site was hiring?
the stranger pretended to think. now that you mention it, they didn’t in so many words. if i recollect, it was i who brought the subject of hiring up, and the fellow at the filling station seemed to think i knew about this place.
that old man is a right idiot. so to answer your question, mister, no, there is not any hiring done being done here.
the stranger looked past tank at the scraggly trees lining the road behind the gate. but there is some sort of place back there?
there is some sort of place everywhere if you just keep walking.
of course. is there some sort of town up ahead?
no, just a thousand miles of road until you get to the pacific ocean.
the stranger laughed pleasantly. well then, thank you for your time and bid you good day.
tank did not return the politeness, and the stranger turned and walked briskly back to the highway.
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