“Don’t you think maybe you’re leaving an opening for some of the cattle to slip out?” he said, twitching his thumb toward Weir’s deserted post.
“Let them other waddies circulate a little—lazy dogs! Won’t hurt ’em any. Cattle ain’t troublin’, nohow. Cole, he told me himself to slide over and give you my letters. Darned funny if a man can’t gas a little once in a while.” He gave Johnny a black look. “Say, feller! Maybe you don’t like my talk?”
“No,” said Johnny, “I don’t. Not unless you change the subject. That young lady wouldn’t want you to be talking her over with any tough you meet.”
Jody Weir checked his horse and regarded Dines with a truculent stare. “Aw, hell! She ain’t so particular! Here, let me show you the stuff she writes, herself.” His hand went to his vest pocket. “Some baby!”
“Here! That’s enough! I’m surprised at you, Jody. I never was plumb foolish about you, but I suhtenly thought you was man enough not to kiss and tell. That’s as low-down as they ever get, I reckon.”
“You ain’t got no gun. And you’re too little for me to maul round—say nothing of scaring the herd and maybe wasting a lot.”
“All that is very true—to-day. But it isn’t a question of guns, just now. I’m trying to get you to shut up that big blackguard mouth of yours. If you wasn’t such a numskull you’d see that I’m a-doin’ you a good turn.”
“You little sawed-off, bench-legged pup! I orter throw this gun away and stomp you into the sand! Aw, what’s a-bitin’ you? I ain’t named no names, have I? You’re crowdin’ me purty hard. What’s the matter, feller? Got it in for me, and usin’ this as an excuse? When’d I ever do you any dirt?”
“Never,” said Johnny. “Get this straight: I’m not wanting any fight. It’s decency I’m trying to crowd on to you—not a fight.”
“I can’t write to my girl without your say-so, hey?”