“Yes, and I’ll bet he’s meaner than he ever was, 79 knockin’ that woman around like a sack of sawdust the way he always did. I reckon he gets more fun out of her that way than he does keepin’ her tied.”
“He can hang her for all I’ll ever interfere between them again, Dad.”
“That’s right. It don’t pay to shove in between a man and his wife in their fusses and disturbances. I know a colonel in the army that’s got seventeen stitches in his bay winder right now from buttin’ in between a captain and his woman. The lady she slid a razor over his vest. They’ll do it every time; it’s woman nature.”
“You talk like a man of experience, Dad. Well, I don’t know much about ’em.”
“Yes, I’ve been marryin’ ’em off and on for forty years.”
“Who is Matt Hall, and where’s his ranch, Dad? I’ve been hearing about him and his brother, Hector, ever since I came up here.”
“Them Hall boys used to be cattlemen up on the Sweetwater, but they was run out of there on account of suspicion of rustlin’, I hear. They come down to this country about four years ago and started up sheep, usin’ on Cottonwood about nine or twelve miles southeast from here. Them fellers don’t hitch up with nobody on this range but Swan Carlson, and I reckon Swan only respects ’em because they’re the only men in this country that packs guns regular any more.”
“Swan don’t pack a gun as a regular thing?”
“I ain’t never seen him with one on. Hector Hall he’s always got a couple of ’em on him, and Matt mostly has one in sight. You can gamble on it he’s 80 got an automatic in his pocket when he don’t strap it on him in the open.”
“I don’t see what use a man’s got for a gun up here among sheep and sheepmen. They must be expecting somebody to call on them from the old neighborhood.”