"It's easy!" said Shoop, gesturing toward the Loring rancho as they passed. "Goin' to bush at the water-hole to-night?"
"No. We'll go through."
Shoop whistled. "Suits me! And I reckon the team is good for it."
He glanced sideways at Corliss, who sat with eyes fixed straight ahead. The cattle-man's face was expressionless. He was thinking hard and fast, but chose to mask it.
Suddenly Shoop, who had watched him some little time, burst into song. "Suits me!" he reiterated, more or less ambiguously, by the way, for he had just concluded another ornate stanza of the "Biscuit-shooter" lyric.
"It's a real song," remarked Corliss.
"Well, now!" exclaimed Shoop. And thereafter he also became silent, knowing from experience that when Corliss had anything worth while to say, he would say it.
About noon they reached the water-hole where Corliss spent some time examining the fences and inspecting the outbuildings.
"She's in right good shape yet," commented Shoop.
"The title has reverted to the State. It's queer Loring hasn't tried to file on it."