Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in.
"Chain that dog up and keep him chained up! And give Fadeaway his time, right up to the minute!"
Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral, and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him.
Fadeaway rolled a cigarette and strolled over to the bunk-house where he retailed his visit and its climax to a group of interested punchers.
"So he tied the can onto you, eh? And for settin' Chance on the sheep? He ought to be much obliged to you, Fade. They ain't room for sheep and cattle both on this here range. We're gettin' backed plumb into the sunset."
Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken.
"And ole man Loring's just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex.," continued the puncher. "Wonder how Corliss likes that?"
"Don' know—and dam' 'f I care. If a guy can't have a little sport without gettin' fired for it, why, that guy don't work for the Concho. The Blue's good enough for me and I can get a job ridin' for the Blue any time I want to cinch up."
"Well, Fade, I reckon you better cinch up pronto, then," said Shoop who had just entered. "Here's your time. Jack's some sore, believe me!"
"Sore, eh? Well, before he gets through with me he'll be sorer. You can tell him for me."