“Too much? Why, Zeb, I’d herd sheep for uh million dollars uh month. Honest, there ain’t no large amount uh money that would be too big to tempt me to herd sheep.”
“Ricky,” pronounced Zeb, “yo’re as funny as th’ dobie itch. No man pays that price unless thar’s uh mighty good reason.”
Ricky swept up the cards and put them in his pocket, and then settled himself comfortably.
“Zeb Whitney, every day is th’ first of April to you. If I was as suspicious as you are I’d git arrested. Jist because we’re uh long ways from home and in uh strange land, and cause uh feller likes our looks and gives us uh job takin’ care of his woolen meal-tickets at so much per care, you immediately and soon gits th’ idea that there’s uh brick under th’ hat. Look at th’ doughnut fer uh while, Zeb, and quit lookin’ at th’ hole in th’ center.”
Zeb shook his head solemnly.
“Did yuh notice that there ain’t no dogs connected with this outfit? Did yuh notice how scared that greaser was when we come and how quick he rolled his blankets and beat it? And also did yuh notice,” he continued before Ricky had a chance to reply, “that Watts said he would give us a fat bonus if we kept th’ herd here for two months?”
“What’s th’ answer?” yawned Ricky.
“Sheep war.”
“Haw! Haw!” laughed Ricky. “Sheep war, eh? Who are th’ sheep goin’ to fight?
By golly, Zeb, if these sheep want to start anything I’ll——”