“No, that wasn’t it,” quickly. “She said it was money you got when some kin of yours died in the south. Said she never got on to it, until she found an old letter of yours, after you went away.”
“Oh, I see,” grunted Len thoughtfully. “Well, how’s this outfit gettin’ along, Whisperin’?”
“Fine! Yessir, it’s shore doin’ well. Old Harmony’s made money here. He was thinkin’ of puttin’ another man or two on the job. We’re raisin’ cows, pardner. The three of us has handled things fine, but she’s growin’ pretty big. The last round-up count showed about a thousand head of Box S brands, not countin’ horses. Harmony’s been raisin’ a lot of horses. A year ago he sold a hundred head to the United States for cavalry horses. Got a hundred apiece for every danged one. And he sold twenty head to a feller who wanted ’em for polo, whatever that is. Got a top price for every one of ’em. And he sold quite a bunch of steers to a Chicago buyer, too.
“Oh, I’ll tell yuh, this ranch is shore on a payin’ basis. Betcha she’s payin’ better than the JP right now, even if the JP is the biggest. Silver Prescott keeps himself broke payin’ wages to a lot of lazy punchers. The OK is doin’ right well, I think. Oscar Knight was over here the other day and he said everythin’ was fine. We don’t see many of the boys these days. I’ll tell yuh, me and Sailor has shore been busy. But”—Whispering shook his head—“we dunno what it’s all about. Nobody left to pay us wages. We don’t even know who owns this here rancheria.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Len slowly. “It will all come out in the wash.”
“Oh, shore. Well, here comes Sailor with six sticks of wood. That’s his limit. How would yuh like some dried apple pie?”
“You know how I used to like it, Whisperin’?”
“I shore do, Len.”
“Well, I ain’t had none for five years.”