“Chip's” Irish did not glance around, but kept striding down the middle of the road with his hands stuck deep in his pockets.
“Don't you think you need help, amigo?” the Native Son insinuated craftily. “You can't talk to three girls at once; I could be hired to go along and take one off your hands. That should help some.”
“Like hell you will!” Irish retorted with characteristic bluntness. Then he added cautiously, “Which one?”
“That old girl with the blue eyes should not be permitted to annoy the driver,” drawled the Native Son. “Also, Florence Grace might want some intelligent person to talk to.”
“Well, I got my opinion of any man that'll throw in with that bunch,” Pink declared hotly. “Why don't you fellows keep your own side the fence. What if they are women farmers? They can do just as much harm—and a darn sight more. You make me sick.”
“Let 'em go,” Weary advised calmly. “They'll be a lot sicker when the ladies discover what they've helped do to that bench-land. Come on, boys—let's pull out, away from all these lunatics. I hate to see them get stung, but I don't see what we can do about it—only, if they come around asking me what I think of that land, I'm going to tell 'em.”
“And then they'll ask you why you took claims up there, and you'll tell 'em that, too—will you?” The Native Son turned and smiled at him ironically.
That was it. They could not tell the truth without harming their own cause. They could not do anything except stand aside and see the thing through to whatever end fate might decree. They thought that Irish and the Native Son were foolish to take Chip's team and drive those women fifteen miles or so that they might seize upon land much better left alone; but that was the business of Irish and the Native Son, who did not ask for the approval of the Happy Family before doing anything they wanted to do.
The Happy Family saddled and rode back to the claims, gravely discussing the potentialities of the future. Since they rode slowly while they talked, they were presently overtaken by a swirl of dust, behind which came the matched browns which were the Flying U's crack driving team, bearing Irish and Miss Allen of the twinkling eyes upon the front seat of a two seated spring-wagon that had seen far better days than this. Native Son helped to crowd the back seat uncomfortably, and waved a hand with reprehensible cheerfulness as they went rattling past.
The Happy Family stared after them with frowning disapproval, and Weary turned in the saddle and looked ruefully at his fellows.