"Where you find one Hallock," chuckled George, "you finds more. We was brought up like that. I can use an iron with any man on th' range, no matter who says I'm lyin'."
Larry burst out laughing. "I never let my cub brothers put on no airs," he declared; "an' some older member of th' family ought to go along to keep 'em from gettin' into trouble. I'm signin' this pay-yorseself-pay-roll, with Lin's permission."
"I can't give no permission to anybody in my outfit to brand mavericks, or run another man's ranch for him," said Sherwood, "but I reckon I can give some of you boys a few days off, in case you want to go fishin' over in Green Valley, or chase them cow-hawks Nelson was tellin' about. Do you chase 'en, or trap 'em, Nelson?"
"You put a hunk of maverick meat on th' end of a rope, an' tie knots in it," said Johnny. "Th' cow-hawk swallers th' whole thing, an' th' knots get caught in his innards. Then you shoot him through th' epizootic with a hunk of lead. Didn't you ever go huntin' 'em?"
"No, but I've heard all about it," replied Sherwood, apologetically. "Now, lemme see: some of you fellers have got to stay here. There's twelve, not countin' me, which nobody ever does, anyhow. Twelve, thanks to them Snake Buttes coyotes, on a ranch that shouldn't have more'n eight. Well, after all, sizin' up th' twelve an' lumpin' 'em, an' dividin' it by one real, shore-enough puncher, they only come to eight, after all. I figger I can do without four of th' laziest—five, if Nelson stays to show somebody how his job ought to be done. Now, that makes nine goin 'to Gunsight to spend their time an' money. Somebody ought to remember about a cook, for I'm sayin' right out loud an' flat, that our cook ain't gettin' no time off."
"You can't make me sore," chuckled Lem Curtis, culinary artist of the ranch. "It'd only be out of th' fryin' pan an' into th' fire for me. Thanks, Lin."
"I can cook good enough for any bow-laigged coyote that ever set foot on this ranch," declared Art French. "An' besides, I got some scores to settle up. I'll cook."
"Well," said Sherwood, "I promised Cimarron sometime ago that he could have a few days off, to rest up from them poker parties. He's a good foreman an' round-up boss, only he ought to do some work hisself. But I'm bettin' our wrangler ain't got enough saddle stock within a day's ride to give you fellers a remuda apiece—say about five to a man."
"If you wasn't th' foreman an' keeper of th' pay-roll," retorted Rich Morgan, "I'd say you was a cross-eyed fabricator. Cuss yore nerve! I'm th' best hoss wrangler, barrin' Arch, of course, that ever took a cussin' from a fool outfit. What th' devil is a little matter like a herd of forty-five saddle hosses to a man like me?"
The foreman leaned back and laughed contentedly. "You would think we was wantin' 'em to go to a dance," he said to Johnny, his eyes twinkling, "instead of goin' out of their way to do some hard work. I'm bettin' th' SV has a proper round-up. Who's goin' to be tally man?"