The face of the trader remained expressionless, though his eyes were busy as he rode.
“You’ve got some she-stock in here,” said he at length; “some yearlings in too. I should say, too, that you’ve got several sorts of brands.”
“Well, maybe we have,” said Nabours. “I’d have a damned sight more if we had not hit so much country where there wasn’t no cows coming north. This here herd belongs to a orphant, Mr. Pattison, and in our country they ain’t no questions asked about orphants; the law of brands don’t run on orphants. We put up this herd in our own country. Our road brand is a Fishhook, and when you buy a Fishhook steer you are buying our support of the brand—twenty good men that can shoot. I got to sell these cows straight too.”
Pattison reined up, still dubious.
“Let me tell you something. I know beef—that’s my trade. You’ve got maybe three or four hundred of light stuff and shes. They don’t pack well. Still, here I am with a good ranch over on the Smoky Hill. It hasn’t got a head of stock on it yet.
“I just took in the land and water and trusted to God for the cattle. I know where the real money is, and it isn’t in buying lean fours. If I had any way to handle these stockers over on my ranch I’d take your herd straight.”
“I can’t split no cows,” said Jim Nabours. “It’s all or none. I got to sell all these cows afore dark. We both allowed that five minutes was plenty.”
“Well, it is,” said Pattison quietly. “I trade as quick as anybody, and I don’t go to the saloon first, as two or three other men have, whom I happen to know, that came on that train. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do: If you’ll hold out that stuff below the fours I’ll give you twenty straight for your fours, right here on the prairie. Five thousand cash down, balance in draft on the First National of Kansas City.”
Suddenly Dan McMasters turned to Nabours.
“The herd is sold,” said he. “Twenty a head, straight through.”