Scott gladly shook hands. He liked this little Irishman. “Any extras?” he asked and he felt the little man start perceptibly.
“So that’s where you come in?” Hicks exclaimed.
“That’s where I will come in if you insist,” Scott replied hotly. “It is my duty to report to the ranger where there are any extras and I do not propose to be insulted every time I ask for the information.”
“Tut, tut, no offense was meant. Tell Dawson I’ll have fifty. If you knew what I know you would not be surprised. Besides it is what you are going to get wherever you go so you might as well get used to it.”
“Then I shall probably lick somebody before night,” Scott laughed.
“And I’m going along to help you,” said Hicks pocketing his permit.
So they all three rode down the valley to Bradish’s where Scott met with the same suspicious reception, made the same explanation and finally rode on down the valley with Mr. Bradish added to the little troop. He could not understand the readiness with which each man offered to accompany him, but his advance was like that of a snow ball. Each rancher he saw promptly took out a permit for free use and joined the procession.
When they reached Wren’s place at noon there were six in the party. Mr. Wren, a big, rough, raw-boned fellow, was so blunt in his insinuations that Scott was furious before the permit was finally written, but Wren did not seem to notice it. With the permit safe in his pocket he looked the rest of the bunch over curiously. “Where is this crowd bound for? If it’s any of my business,” he asked.
“Up to Bronson’s,” was the prompt reply.
“Party there?” Wren asked. A party in this thinly settled country was a great event and every one who heard about it came regardless of distance or invitation.