"Turned you down, eh! That's what I call nerve! And you been away three year and more. Reckon, by the way the Concho is makin' good, you got more'n two hundred comin'. She's half yours, ain't she?"
"Yes. And I'm going to get my share. He told me I could have a job—that he was short-handed. What do you think of that! And I own half the Concho! I guess I'd like to ride range with a lot of—well, you understand, Fade. I never liked the Concho and I never will. Let's have another. No. This is on me."
Again they drank and Corliss became more talkative. He posed as one wronged by society in general and his brother especially.
As his talk grew louder, Fadeaway cautioned him. "Easy, Billy. No use advertisin'. Come on over here." And Fadeaway gestured toward one of the tables in the rear of the room.
Corliss was about to retort to the other's apparently good-natured interference with his right to free speech, when he caught Fadeaway's glance. "Well?" he exclaimed.
The cowboy evidently had something to say in confidence. Corliss followed him to one of the tables.
"It's this way," began the cowboy. "You're sore at Jack. Now Jack's got friends here and it won't help you any to let 'em know you're sore at him. I ain't feelin' like kissin' him myself—right now. But I ain't advertisin' it. What you want to do is—"
"What's that got to do with me?" interrupted Corliss.
Fadeaway laughed. "Nothin'—if you like. Only there's been doin's since you lit out." And he paused to let the inference sink in.
"You mean—?"