"And brand that deep," growled Lawlor, looking about with a frown.
He had already stepped into his part; the others laughed loudly.
"Steady there!" called Drew. "Lawlor starts as boss right now. Cut out the laughing. I'll tell the rest of you what you're to do later on. In the meantime just step out and I'll have a talk with Lawlor on his part. We haven't much time to get ready. But remember—if one of you grins when Lawlor gives an order—I'm done with that man—that's all."
They filed out of the room, looking serious, and Drew concentrated on Lawlor. "This sounds like a joke," he began, "but there's something serious about it. If you carry it through safely, there's a hundred in it for you. If you fall down, why, you fall out of an easy place on this ranch."
The big cattleman wiped a growing perspiration from his forehead and considered his boss with plaintive eyes.
"This tenderfoot who's coming is green to the range, but he's a hard man; a fine horseman, a sure shot, and a natural fighter. More than that, he's coming here looking for trouble; and he'll expect to get the trouble from you."
Lawlor brushed his moustache anxiously.
"Let someone else take the job—that's all. A hundred ain't to be picked up every week, but I'll do without it. In my day I've done my share of brawlin' around, but I'm too stiff in the joints to make a fast draw and getaway now. Let Nash take this job. He's gun-fighter enough to handle this bad-man for you."
"No," said Drew, "not even Nash can handle this one."
"Then"—with a mighty and explosive emphasis—"there ain't no possible use of me lingering around the job. S'-long."