One time I had a right good pal,
Git along, cayuse, git along;
But he quit me cold for a little ranch gal,
Git along, cayuse, git along.
And now he's took to pitchin' hay
On a rancho down San Andreas way;
He's done tied up and he's got to stay;
Git along, cayuse, git along.
"I was just learnin' him the ropes, and he quit me cold," complained Cheyenne, appealing to Scott.
"He aims to keep out of trouble," suggested Scott.
"I ain't got no friends," said Cheyenne, grinning.
"Thanks for that," said Scott.
Cheyenne reached in his pocket and drew out the dice. His eyes brightened. He rattled the dice and shot them across the hardpacked ground near the doorstep. Then he struck a match to see what he had thrown. "I'm hittin' the road five minutes after six, to-morrow mornin'," he declared, as he picked up the dice.