"Boss, was you? Then I reckon you wouldn't refuse a job as foreman, would you?"
Ned's interest became practical. "Where 's yore ranch?" he asked, with some show of eagerness.
"Why, I was aimin' to stop 'round here some'rs."
"H—l! There ain't a foot o' ground within eighty mile o' where yo 're sittin' as ain't grazed a heap over, less 'n it's some nester hangin' on by his fingers an' toes—an' blamed few o' them, neither. Leastaways, none but th' NM an' Schatz's range, which they says belongs to th' old Double Y, both of 'em."
"What's keepin' them free?"
"'Bout a regiment o' deputies, I reckon." He smiled grimly. "It's costin' 'em somethin' to keep th' range free o' cattle. Mebby you could lease it. That McAllister feller ain't never goin' to get a man to run it for long. Some o' th' boys is feelin' mighty sore an' Schatz is a tough nut. It's goin' to be a mighty big job, when he starts, an' that's certain."
"I 'd like to see it. We 'll go t'morrow."
Buck's careless defiance of the situation pleased Ned. With the first evidence of good humor he had shown he hit Buck a resounding slap on the back. "That's you," was his admiring comment.
The door opened to admit the short, broad figure of a man who, after a glance around the room, made his bow-legged way to their table. His tone betrayed some anxiety as he asked: "Ned, haf you seen mein Fritz?"
"Nope," answered Ned, "I have n't, Dutch. Hey, boys!" he called, "Anybody seen Pickles?"