“Cheyenne’s in a hurry to-night, Sam.”
“Yeah. Ride hell out of his horse. I dunno, me.” Sam grinned amiably at his boss.
“I wish you would camp on his trail, Sam. He’ll maybe ride somewhere to-night.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. You bet,” acquiesced Sam, and leaned forward a little, meaning to gallop after Cheyenne.
“Hold on a minute! What did Scotty have to say, Sam?”
“Him? Talk a lot about spotty yearlin’ he says is dead. Asking who kills them calf. Search me, I dunno.”
“Hear any talk among the boys about beef rustling?”
“Uh-huh. First I hear is them sour-face asking me who kills them critter. Me, I dunno.”
“If you hear anything about it, Sam, let me know. Scotty thinks we done it.”