“I dunno––long time ago.” Sam Pretty Cow turned the hay sidewise and went in to stuff his fragrant burden into the manger.
“I was going out with the boys, if they went anywhere. Where have they all headed for, Sam? I could overtake them, maybe.”
Sam Pretty Cow, returning to the doorway, shifted a quid of tobacco from one cheek to the other and grinned.
“I dunno, me,” he responded amiably.
“You don’t know? Didn’t dad say anything? Didn’t the boys?” And then, with faint exasperation, “Doesn’t any one ever talk any more on this ranch?”
Sam Pretty Cow gave him a swift, oblique glance and spat accurately at a great horsefly that had lighted on a board end.
“Not much, you bet. Nh-hn.”
Lance called to Shorty, who had set his milk buckets down that he might open the little gate that swung inward,––the gate which horses were not supposed to know anything about.
“Oh-h, Shorty! Where did dad and the boys go this morning?”