"There can only be one ending," quietly replied his companion, whose pipe, being already lit, was puffed with the deliberate enjoyment of a veteran; "the rustlers may stir things up, and I s'pose they've got to get worse before they get better, but what's the use? It's like a mob or a riot; the scamps have things their own way at first, but they knuckle under in the end."
"I guess you're right; that was bad business yesterday; I shouldn't wonder if it ended in the young folks moving East again with their mother, whose heart is broke by the death of her husband."
"The younker is too plucky a chap to light out 'cause the governor has been sent under; he's had better luck than most tenderfeet who come out here and start in the cattle bus'ness; he done well last year, and if the rustlers let him alone, he'll do a good deal better this year; he may move, but he ain't agoin' to let them chaps hurry him, you can make up your mind to that."
The couple smoked a minute or two in silence. Then Weber, without removing his pipe from between his lips, uttered the words:
"Budd, something's going to happen powerful soon."
Hankinson, also keeping his pipe between his lips, turned his head and looked wonderingly at his friend. He did not speak, but the action told his curiosity; he did not understand the words.
"I mean what I say," added Weber, shaking his head; "I know it."
"What do you mean? Something happens every night and every day."
"That isn't what I'm driving at; something's going to happen afore daylight; you and me ain't through with this work."
Hankinson was still dissatisfied. He took his pipe from his mouth, and, looking sideways at his friend, asked: