"Go ahead," he grunted. "But remember I don't know nothin' about these here calves! You're just usin' my corral here to-day, an' the devil keep your skins if you git caught!"
"Oh, I don't know!" drawled Shorty Smith.
"Well, I know!" roared the old man. "If you can't take my advice an' put this here thing off till after dark you kin take the consequences. Anybody's likely to ride along here, an' I'd like to know what kind of a yarn you'd have to tell!"
"Now you know them calves 're yourn," drawled Shorty Smith, in an aggravating tone, as he climbed up and seated himself on the top pole of the corral. "You know them 're yourn, every blame one, an' their mothers 're back in the hills there!"
"Your cows all had twins, so you picked out these here ones to wean 'em, if anybody should ask," said Long Bill, continuing the sport.
The old man uttered a string of oaths.
"Not much you don't pan 'em off onto me!" he exclaimed. "My cows ain't havin' twins this year!"
"Some of Harris' has got triplets," mused Shorty Smith, at which Long Bill laughed, exclaiming:
"Been lary ever since them stock-inspectors was up here last fall, ain't you? Before that some o' your cows had a half a dozen calves. I should 'a' thought you had more grit'n that, Peter!"
The old man cursed some more. Shorty Smith jumped down from his high perch and fetched a long, slender rod of iron from between two logs of the cow-shed.