“If the sheep on that permit cost you anything, let me know,” Scott said a little pompously, as he handed over the permit.
“Going to Hicks’ place?” Simpson asked in a suddenly friendly tone as he put the permit in his pocket.
Scott nodded.
“I’ll ride over with you,” Simpson volunteered.
Scott was somewhat surprised at the sudden change of manner, but gladly accepted the offer. Simpson soon won his way into Scott’s good graces by his generous praises of Jed and before they had covered the two miles to Hicks’ place they were on very good terms.
Mr. Hicks had ridden out to look over his stock but they soon found him. He was a jolly little Irishman with sparkling blue eyes which danced when he recognized the new patrolman. “Howdy,” he responded to Scott’s greeting, “I see you are still sticking to that horse.”
“You bet,” Scott replied enthusiastically, “I’ve never had a better one.” He did not explain that he had never had another one. “I came over to see how many head of stock you are going to put on your free use permit this spring.”
Hicks winked at Simpson. “Out collecting his fees before he fair knows the way home,” he chuckled. “Well, how much do I have to pay this year to keep my sheep out of that loco patch?”
His manner was friendly enough but Scott thought he recognized a certain shrewd hardness back of it and when he remembered what Simpson had told him he did not blame him. “I’ve been through all that with Mr. Simpson,” Scott replied a little haughtily, “and I don’t care to hear it again. I am new here and I know nothing of what happened last year and I will not be accused of graft. A free use permit means free use to me. If you want one I am here to give it to you; if you don’t want it I have a long way to ride.”
“Give me the limit, me boy, and shake hands on it.”