The sudden appearance of the man behind him nearly makes him jump - thankfully, he heard quiet boot-steps before Jim spoke up, otherwise he might have

"Helluva lot nicer than the stockyard up in Galveston," he tells him, glancing over his shoulder after another stroke through his hair. He doesn't overdo it because he doesn't want to come off as a tenderfoot, but he does clean himself up pretty good.

Doc crosses the floor to his bunk, to put the comb back in his back, still speaking. "I like it."

A beat.

"How long you been workin' for Mr. Barlow," he asks, conversationally.