“Why didn’t you follow me?”
“I think too much of my horse to jam him over rocks when there ain’t no special call for it. I kin ride on a run 'thout fallin’ off, when they’s need to.”
Toomey’s brilliant black eyes flashed. Swallowing the impudence of these western hirelings was one of the hardest things he had to endure in his present life. But even he could see that Teeters thoroughly understood cattle, else he would have long since discharged him.
“I’ve ridden about ten extra miles trying to keep you in sight.”
“If you’d let them sturrups out like I told you and quit tryin’ to set down standin’ up, ridin’ wouldn’t tire you so much.” Teeters looked at the English pigskin saddle in frank disgust.
Toomey ignored the criticism and said arrogantly:
“I want you to follow me from now on.”
An ominous glint came in the cowboy’s eye, but he still grinned.
“I wa'nt broke to foller. Never was handled right when I was a colt. Don’t you wait fer me, feller, you jest sift along in and I’ll come when I git done.”
Judging from the expression on Toomey’s face, it seemed to the Major an opportune time to interrupt.