Harris turned to the girl.
"I resign for about sixty seconds," he said and swung back toward Morrow; and again all hands noted his queer quartering stand. "I'm not foreman right at this minute," he said. "So if you had anything in particular to address to me in a personal vein you can start now. Otherwise you'd better be packing your stuff."
Morrow turned his back and headed for the rope corral. When he had saddled one horse and packed his effects on another he turned to Evans.
"You helped frame this on me," he said. "I thought I saw you messing over into my detail a few days back."
"Right on the first ballot," Lanky assented. "I'm only riding for one brand at a time."
"One day right soon I'll run across you again," Morrow prophesied.
"Then I'll take to riding with my head over my shoulder—surveying my back-track," Lanky promised. "Because we'll most likely meet from behind."
For the first time Morrow's bleak face changed expression, the lines deepening from the strain of holding himself steady in the face of the contemptuous insults with which Lanky casually replied to his threats.
He started to snarl an answer, his usual self-repression deserting him, but Harris waved an impatient hand.
"Drag it!" he snapped. "Get moving. If I had my own way we'd lead your horse out from under you—and we will if I ever hear of your turning up on the Three Bar range again."