“I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut,” Rock said, “that he took with him only his special pets.”
“You’d win your bet,” Charlie growled. “I didn’t count noses, but the hard pills were among the missin’. How’d you guess?”
“‘Birds of a feather.’” Rock quoted the old proverb. “I’m leaving you, myself, in the morning, Charlie.”
“What for?” Charlie inquired.
“Well, for public consumption.” Rock smiled. “I’m pulling out because I find life here much too exciting. I don’t like vigilance committees and private wars. Privately, between you and me and the gatepost, I’ll be back before long. And I’m coming back with bells on.”
Charlie frowned.
“Kinda hate to see you go,” he said. “But I guess you know your own business best.”
“Did Doc Martin ever tell you about finding a set of corrals with a branding chute, tucked away somewhere in the Sweet Grass?”
“Hell!” Charlie exclaimed. “How’d you find that out?”
“Did he tell you where they were?”