"What's he doing here? What does he want? That's what I'd like to know. Hey?"
"He came to get his cattle, I reckon."
"Cattle?" Dave snorted. "Him? Why, he never had even a dogie calf. No, sir; no, Lafe, that Walsh is a bad hombre. He's mean. Meaner'n poison. None of the Moffatts ain't no meaner."
"The Moffatts?" Lafe repeated, pausing with his pencil in midair. "What's this nester got to do with Steve Moffatt or his kin?"
"Why," said the cook, "this Ben done married Moffatt's sister. He sure thinks he's some gunman, too, Ben does—most as good as Steve."
The boss was very thoughtful as they ate their meal. He spoke civilly to Walsh and discussed with him the condition of cattle and grass, and the water supply. He even offered Dave an extra blanket on learning that the cook had proffered the visitor a bed.
During the work next day, as Lafe was dispersing his riders, he stopped to ask of Walsh: "Where do you figure you're most like to find yours, Mr. Walsh?"
The nester mentioned a stretch of chaparral, and Johnson assigned him to that strip. He noted that Walsh performed his tasks indolently. Once, too, while they were working the herd, he caught a criticism of his methods that the nester was voicing to a cowboy. Lafe did not show any resentment, although the tone employed was raised purposely that he might hear, but bode his time.
A couple of days passed and the boss became aware that he was being made a butt by the nester. Malcontents can be found in every outfit. So there were some in the Anvil who listened to Walsh's low-voiced talk and joined readily in the laugh. After supper on the third evening, one of the old hands told Lafe that Walsh was "knocking" him.
"I know," said Johnson.