"But it hurts you with the boys," the other protested. "They don't work so good. Why, to-day, when you put Walsh on day herd and he went to the spring instead, a lot of 'em laughed and joked."
"Sure," said Lafe, evenly, "I know. I'm just waiting. Thanks, all the same, Mit."
Unvarying civility for another day on Johnson's part; on Walsh's, a cautious expansion of his policy of weakening discipline. The next night somebody inaugurated a game of pitch on a saddle-blanket by lantern light. Although the boss had not absolutely tabooed gambling, of late he had discountenanced it among the Anvil boys on the roundup. He was about to order the game stopped, when he perceived that Walsh was one of the players. Upon that he walked over and asked to be allowed to take a hand.
The game ran with varying fortune. The players praised or cursed the cards with gusto, according to their luck, as is the way with cowboys—except Johnson, who won or lost with equal imperturbability. During a pause, someone told a story. Next deal, Walsh capped it with another. Just as he reached the point, he paused suddenly to examine his cards.
"And what," said Lafe, whose mind was on other things, "what did the girl do then?"
Walsh promptly sprang the point, a time-worn catch which under any other circumstances Lafe would have readily foreseen. The majority of the spectators around the blanket broke into crackling laughter. A few kept silent, for there was a venom, a calculated malice in Walsh's tone which did not escape the older men. The boss felt it, and for a moment his eyes held Walsh's steadily. Both wore guns, as did every man during roundup. Then Lafe threw back his head and laughed with such unaffected heartiness that the nester seemed puzzled. Throughout the remainder of the game he looked rather crestfallen.
Dave was cooking dinner about noon. The nester lolled in camp, having advanced a plea of sickness to avoid work that morning. When the sun was past its height, the outfit galloped in. Behind came Johnson, his horse moving at a sober walk. He was dragging a cow at the end of his rope. Arrived close to the fire, he ordered Mit to heel the animal, and when she was stretched out, borrowed a sharp knife from the cook. Then he went to the cow's head and took hold of her tongue.
"Land's sake, Lafe," cried Dave, "what do you aim to do now?"
"Split her tongue," said Johnson.
"Oh," said the cook. Everybody seemed satisfied.