"You forgot the horses—six hundred is what they cost."
Canby started to protest, then, with a crafty look which, fleeting as it was, Wallie caught, he made out a new check for fifty-six hundred.
Turning to Pinkey, Canby said: "I'll give you a hundred and fifty for your horse."
Pinkey hesitated. It was a hundred more than it was worth.
"I guess not." Wallie's voice was curt. "I'm clairvoyant, Canby, and I've read your thought. You can't stop payment by telephone, because Pink is going to close-herd you right here until I ride to Prouty and get this cashed."
Pinkey's jaw dropped.
"By the long-horn toads of Texas! I wouldn't 'a' thought of that in a month!"
As Wallie put his foot into the stirrup for the first time his face relaxed. He looked over his shoulder and grinned:
"If you listen, maybe you'll hear something making a noise like a dude ranch, Pink."