Knowles scratched his head. “Hum-m-m––You 101 sure put up a mighty stiff argument, Kid. I’m not so sure, though.... Um-m-m––Strikes me some of your knots might be tighter. First place, there wasn’t any play-acting about the way the boy went plumb to pieces there at the waterhole. Next place, a man like his father, that’s piled up a mint of money, isn’t going to send out his son as forerider in a hostile country. Lastly, I’ve read a lot more about that engineer Blake than you have, and I’ve sized him up as a man who won’t do anything that isn’t square and open.”
“Maybe he ain’t in on the dirty side of the deal,” admitted Gowan. “How about this letter, though?”
“Just a friendly writing, like as not,” answered the cowman. “No, Kid––only trouble with you is you’re too anxious over the interests of Dry Mesa range. I appreciate it, boy, and so does Chuckie. But that’s no reason for you to take every newcomer for a wolf ’til he proves he’s only a dog.”
“You won’t do anything?” asked the puncher.
“What d’you want me to do?”
“Fire him––run him off Dry Mesa,” snapped Gowan.
“Sorry I can’t oblige you, Kid,” replied Knowles. “You mean well, but you’ll have to make a better showing before I’ll turn adrift any man that seems to be trying to make good.”
Gowan looked down. After a brief pause he replied 102 with unexpected submissiveness: “All right, Mr. Knowles. You’re the boss. Reckon you know best. I don’t savvy these city folks.”
“Glad you admit it,” said Knowles. “You’re all wrong in sizing him up that way. I’ve a notion he’s got a lot of good in him, spite of his city rearing. I wouldn’t object, though, if you wanted to test him out with a little harmless hazing, long as you didn’t go too far.”
“No,” declined Gowan. “I’ve got my own notion of what he is. There’s just one way to deal with skunks, and that is, don’t fool with them.”