"I'm all in," said Waco.
"I got to take you to Stacey just the same."
"And you're doin' it for the money—the reward."
"That's my business."
"Go ahead," said the tramp. "I hope you have a good time blowin' in the dough. Blood-money changes easy to booze-money when a lot of cow-chasers get their hooks on it."
"Don't get gay!" said Lorry. "I aim to use you white as long as you work gentle. If you don't—"
"That's the way with you guys that do nothin' but chase a cow's tail over the country. You handle folks the same as stock—rough stuff and to hell with their feelin's."
"You're feelin' better," said Lorry. "Stand up and get to goin'."
As Waco rose, Lorry's pony nickered. A rider was coming down the distant northern hillside. In the fluttering silken bandanna and the twinkle of silver-studded trappings Lorry recognized the foreman of the Starr Rancho; Bob Brewster, known for his arrogance as "High-Chin Bob."
"Guess we'll wait a minute," said Lorry.