“Langwidge? Gee! I pass.”
And during the rest of the meal “hog” found no place. They discussed the topic of the day threadbare. The night-riders filled their thoughts to the exclusion of all else, and Tresler learned the details of their recent exploits, and the opinion of each man on the outrages. Even Teddy Jinks, youthful and only “slushy” as he was, was listened to, so absorbed were these men in their cattle world.
“It’s my belief,” that reedy youth said, with profound finality, “they’re working fer a bust up. I’d gamble one o’ Arizona’s hogs to a junk o’ sow-belly ther’ ain’t no more of them rustlers around come the fall. Things is hot, an’ they’re goin’ to hit the trail, takin’ all they ken get right now.”
It was good to be listening to the rough talk of these fellows again. So good that Tresler prolonged this, his first meal with them after such a long absence, to the last possible minute. Then he reluctantly filled his pipe, put away his plate and pannikin, and strolled over to the barn in company with Arizona. He went to inspect his mare; he was fond and justly proud of her. With all her vagaries of temper she was a wonderful beast. Arizona had told him how she had brought both of them into the ranch from Willow Bluff on that memorable night.
“Guess it’s a real pity that sheriff feller hadn’t got her when he hit Red Mask’s trail,” observed Arizona, while he watched Tresler gently pass his hands over each leg in turn. “Clean, eh?” he asked presently.
“Yes. The limbs of a race-horse. Has she been ridden while I’ve been sick?”
“Nope; she’s jest stood guzzlin’ oats.”
“I shall have a time when I get into the saddle again.”