At dusk, three days later, the one livery car from Santa Carlotta stopped at the ranch gate to carry Royce Mack and his belongings to the distant railroad, whence the night train was to bear him eastward to his bride.
Herders piled the car with luggage; then stood at the gate to say good-by to their former boss. Joel loitered in the doorway; Treve beside him, Fenno was frowning and fidgeting.
Royce came up to him with outstretched hand. For a moment the old man ignored the hand. Once more his jaws were at work with senility’s cud. Suddenly he burst forth:
“Trevy’s your’n! Take him along East with you!”
There was a world of stifled heartache and stark misery in the grouchy old voice.
“What the blue blazes!” sputtered Royce in amaze. “D’you mean to say you don’t want him, after all the fuss you made? He—”
“Yep!” snarled old Fenno. “I want him more’n I want my right leg. An’ I reckon I’ll be twice as lonesome without him as I’d be without the two of my legs. But I—I don’t want him the way I won him. I thought I did. But I don’t. It—it sticks in my throat. He’s a square dog, Trevy is. He ain’t goin’ to be won by no crooked trick. So I— Oh, take him along an’ shut up!”
Royce continued to stare in bewilderment. His owlish aspect angered Joel.
“We shook dice for him,” expounded Fenno, sourly. “You throwed a six an’ a five. I throwed a six an’ a one. You looked back to see who was buttin’ into the room that time of night. I flicked the one-spot over, an’ made it a six. Take him along. I—I— Trevy, son,” he ended, a frog in his throat as he laid a shaky hand on the collie’s head, “you see for yourself, I couldn’t keep you, that way; you bein’ so clean an’ decent; an’ me cheatin’ to get you. I—”