"Yo're gettin' th' drift, slow but shore," sarcastically rejoined the foreman. "Anythin' I own I can give away; but not nothin' I don't own. A kid can understand that. An' there ain't that many mavericks on this ranch."
"I still say we can get around anythin' an' I ain't no kid," muttered Johnny. "Lemme see: First, we'll consider cash. Got any?"
"Nothin' but my wages," answered the foreman, a sarcastic smile playing around his lips.
"Too bad," mused Johnny, "wages ain't a patch. If we could have you ownin' a nice pile of money—but can get money!"
"Look here!" snapped Big Tom, aggressively. "I can't sign no checks over a certain amount a year—th' bank wouldn't cash 'em. An' they've all been signed for this year, all but th' pay-roll. An' I don't own that money, neither. That belongs to th' ranch."
"Well, failin' in cash," said Johnny, crisply, "I'll take a note. Will you gimme one?"
"I will; you can have it," nodded Big Tom, his pet scheme coming more vividly into his mind. "I'll make it out right here, an' now."
"I don't want yore note," objected Johnny. "What good is it? Now, if it was endorsed by somebody that could make it good, why that would be different. You said you'd gimme a note; then gimme that one for three thousand dollars, of Arnold's, that is endorsed by somebody that can make it good. An' also a receipt for it. That'll cut down that nine hundred an' seventy an amazin' lot. Th' difference won't be too many to get right here on th' Bar H, an' all of 'em mavericks."
Big Tom was staring at him as if doubting his senses. His face flushed and the veins on his neck and forehead stood out like serpents. He stepped forward involuntarily, but the gun stopped him. He was incapable of speech for the moment and could only make inarticulate sounds.