The brawny foreman of the Dos S dropped the cat and threw out his hands impressively, and once more the wild glow crept back into his eyes.
“You remember that Jim Swope that I introduced 93 you to down on the desert? Well, he’s a good sheepman, but he’s on the grab for money like a wolf. He’s got it, too––that’s the hell of it.”
Creede sighed, and threw a scrap of bacon to Tommy.
“He keeps a big store down at Moroni,” he continued, “and the widde’, not wantin’ to shove her cows onto a fallin’ market, runs up an account with him––somethin’ like a thousand dollars––givin’ her note for it, of course. It’s about four years ago, now, that she happened to be down in Moroni when court was in session, when she finds out by accident that this same Jim Swope, seein’ that cattle was about to go up, is goin’ to close her out. He’d ’a’ done it, too, like fallin’ off a log, if the old judge hadn’t happened to be in town lookin’ up some lawsuit. When he heard about it he was so durned mad he wrote out a check for a thousand dollars and give it to her; and then, when she told him all her troubles, he up and bought the whole ranch at her own price––it wasn’t much––and shipped her and the girls back to St. Louie.”
Creede brushed the dirt and flour off the table with a greasy rag and dumped the biscuits out of the oven.
“Well,” he said, “there’s where I lost my last chanst to git a girl. Come on and eat.”