"No, but of course we'll find them. It's absurd to think a man can get away with rustling in this enlightened twentieth century, that we've got to revert to shooting and——"
"That's what the majority of the world claimed in 1914," interrupted Benson dryly.
"Don't be a blamed pessimist, Tommy. I'm going to take you off the books and use you outside."
"Oh boy!" he voiced the twentieth century equivalent to the nineteenth century "Great Scott!" in delighted approval. "If you do that and Ranlett has been crooked, he hasn't a prayer. I'm the original Sherlock Holmes. Watch me get him! Pete's boys have all they can do now without turning detectives. You'd think that Gerrish had just been put in charge of a new outfit. He's on location every minute, reëstimating the number of head each pasture should carry, weighing up the stock, sifting out the undesirables. Take it from me, old dear, he knows every calf by name, what it's worth now and what it will bring one year from now. He claims that Ranlett has been underselling. I'll ride the fences to-morrow. If you say the word I'll take Jerry along and we'll have a corking time."
"You and Jerry usually have a corking time together, don't you?" Benson showed his teeth in a flashing smile.
"I'll say we do. I don't like to talk about myself, but——"
Courtlandt laughed.
"You don't care for yourself one little bit, do you, Tommy? By all means take Jerry if she cares to go. Beat it down to the corral with Blue Devil, will you? That is if you dare ride him," Steve amended with a laugh.
Tommy mounted with the agility of a monkey, wheeled his horse and declaimed theatrically:
"I dare do all that may become a man
Who dares do more is none!"