“You travels on your own responsibility,” he replies.
“I wonder what Hank is sore at me for?” I asks Old Testament, a little later, but he shakes his head, and mumbles something about the flocks on the seven hills and the wrath to come.
“Did you tell him that I bought them sheep?” I asks, and he nods.
“Yea. I did not lie, Henry Peck. I know naught of Bowles.”
“I suppose you also told him that I was going to stock this here range with sheep, didn’t you?”
“I merely told him that I surmised so.”
We rides almost to the Cross J, when we overtakes Abe Evans, the depot agent at Paradise.
“Gosh! I’m glad you caught me,” pants Abe, “I never was built to fit a saddle, and this here nag ain’t no rocking-chair. Here’s a telegram for Lemule Bowles, charges paid. You sign for it, Hen, and let me go back home.”
We pilgrims on to the ranch, but Muley ain’t there. There’s a note on the table which orates that he’ll be there at three o’clock, and it’s addressed to Weinie Lopp, of the Triangle.
“This here telegram ought to be opened,” opines Old Testament, who is as nosey as a pet coon. “A telegram always means that something is going to happen, and it’s better to be prepared.”