"Got the lock-jaw?" queried Fadeaway, his pretended heartiness vanishing.
Corliss allowed himself to smile, a very little. "You better ride back with me," he said, quietly.
Fadeaway laughed. "I'm takin' orders from the Blue, these days," he said. "Mebby you forgot."
"No, I haven't."
"And I'm headed for the Blue," continued the cowboy. "Goin' my way?"
"You're on the wrong trail," asserted Corliss. "You've been riding the wrong trail ever since you left the Concho."
"Uhuh. Well, I been keepin' clear of the sheep camps, at that."
"Don't know about that," said Corliss, easily.
Fadeaway was too shrewd to have recourse to his gun. He knew that Corliss was the quicker man, and he realized that, even should he get the better of a six-gun argument, the ultimate result would be outlawry and perhaps death. He wanted to get away from that steady, heart-searching gaze that held him.
"Sheep business is lookin' up," he said, with an attempt at jocularity.