"Well, he's in dam' bad company. Now, Jack says you got to plant 'em in hills and irrigate. I aim to just drill 'em in and let the A'mighty do the rest. What do you think?"
"I think you're getting worse as you grow older, Pat. Say, did you ever get track of that roan mare you lost up at Las Cruces?"
"Yes, I got her back."
"Speaking of horses, I saw a pinto down in Sonora—"
Just then the assistant joined them, and they sauntered to the cantina. Dex, tied at the rail, turned and gazed at them. Waring took the morral of grain from the saddle, and, slipping Dex's bridle, adjusted it.
The rugged, lean face of the collector beamed. "I wondered if you thought as much of 'em as you used to. I aimed to see if I could make you forget to feed that cayuse."
"How about those goats in your own corral?" laughed Waring.
"Kind of a complimentary cuss, ain't he?" queried Pat, turning to his assistant. "And he don't know a dam' thing about cucumbers."
"You old-timers give me a pain," said the assistant, grinning.
"That's right! Because you can't set down to a meal without both your hands and feet agoing and one ear laid back, you call us old because we chew slow. But you're right. Jim and I are getting kind of gray around the ears."