"We-ell," began the cowman, and once more he paused to meditate.
"Since you inquire," continued the cowboy, "I don't mind tellin' you that I'm travellin' for excitement—and to grab some money. If you've got any proposition that might appeal to me, spit it out—if not, they's no harm done."
"Well, wait a minute!" cried Old Crit, peevishly.
"My time's valuable," observed Pecos, sententiously. "You can trust me as good as I can trust you—mebby better. I don't hear nobody accuse you of being sure pay, but if I take your job I want you to remember that I draw my money at the end of every month or else I collect and quit. Now if you can jar that proposition out of your system, I'll listen to it."
"I guess you'll do," said the cowman, as if quieting his own misgivings. "I've got a little special work that I want done on the quiet, markin' over some cows and calves. The man that does it will have to hide out up in that rough country and I'll pay him—forty dollars."
"Eighty," said the Texan.
"W'y, I'm only payin' my round-up hands thirty," protested Crittenden, weakly; "I'll give you fifty, though."
"Eighty, cash," said the cowboy. "You'll make that on the first ten calves."
"Sixty!" pleaded Crit.
"I want my money in my hand at the end of every month," added Pecos, and then there was a silence.