Thousand: Four Hundred Sixty-Three

“Y’ever seen one o’ them lepers?” the cowboy asks. The innkeeper’s nose flares (even though it’s a bit flared already, it’s easy to see the nostrils twitching) and his lip curls (which makes his bristling black moustache rise in the middle and decline at the ends). “You shooting the lepers?” Darn shakes his head. “Not today. Not in uh while. I jes wonder, that’s all. You know, where they byin.” “Lepers?” wonders Bernie, not sure he should. “Little demuns,” the cowboy explains, making a patting motion with his hand. “Little ones.” “Are they ugly?” The cowboy thinks about this. “Guess