"I reckon that were thu best jawb yuh evah done, Lew," says the cowboy with much conviction.
Ballard, dropping his eyes unaccountably, hesitates long over his selection of a fresh weed.
"What the hell else was there to do?" he says gruffly. But the recording angel, looking kindly and indulgently at the honest face, smiles softly and forgets the pen in his hand.
For a long time the men smoke in a silence more eloquent than words. Then Ballard shifts the threads in the loom.
"That's a great kid that Ken's got, I hear. Think I'll take a pasear over there with you when you go back and look at his points."
"That kid!" says Red enthusiastically. "Say, Lew, hush! He's thu biggest thing on thu range. Why, thu damn leetle cuss actooly kin make fists already, an' he jes' nacherally pre-empts my ole hawg laig every time I goes there. Thu han'le is good to cut his teeths on, Ken says, an' he kin eat it cleah off if he wants. I m thinkin' o leavin my spah gun foh him to nibble on at odd times."
"An' Ken?"
There is a certain diffidence in the sturdy fellow's voice. Red looking at him with a world of reassurance in his laughing blue eyes, grins broadly.
"Hell!" he says succinctly. "Yuh go oveh theah and watch hes eyes follerin' of her. When a man gits through playin' thu goat he gin'rally feels some obligated to act sheep foh a spell, so's to even up thu deal."