"Hello French!" greeted Two-Spot, putting a foot on the spokes of a wheel. "Where are you fellers headin' for?"
"Up th' Juniper trail," answered Art. "Want to come along? Have you got th' nerve to take a chance with somebody else's cattle?"
Two-Spot looked at him intently. "What are you aimin' to do with 'em?" he asked.
"What do folks usually do with cows that don't belong to 'em?" countered Art.
"Holy mavericks!" muttered Two-Spot. "These here ijuts ain't carin' a whole lot who knows about it! What you got th' waggin for? Aimin' to squat out there an' steal 'em as fast as they grows up?"
"That's for th' hides of them that gets killed. We're goin' to round up every hoof, clean and prompt."
"You didn't stop at th' Doc's on yore way up, did you?" asked Two-Spot, paying no attention to the noise made by several men who had mounted and were riding toward the wagon at a walk.
"Why?"
"Oh, nothin', only I reckon'd mebby you'd got some of them little white pills he shoots into hisself."
"Can you keep a tally?" asked Art, carelessly.