“She ain’t exactly of the vampire type,” agrees Chuck. “Muley’s got one dead immortal cinch though: nobody’s going to come along and steal her away from him.”
“Zeb says he’ll have to marry her over his dead body or bring money enough to buy out his sheep,” says I.
“The latter is the more revolting,” says Telescope. “Tell Muley we’ll fix it for him after we get back if we have to steal Zeb’s sheep so he won’t have nothing to sell.”
The next few days we’re a busy crew, loading twenty cars of beef for Chicago, and we don’t have much time for conversation. Muley is too fat to herd ’em up the chute, so he sets down cross-legged on top of a car, and checks off the loads. Zeb Abernathy comes over to the yards and sets down on top of the fence, along with a lot of other loafers, and when Telescope sees him he crosses the corral and sets down beside Zeb.
“Howdy, Zeb,” says Telescope, rolling a smoke. “You going to leave here after you sells out, or are you going to make your home with Susie and her husband?”
“Hu-u-u-u-h?” grunts Zeb, amazed-like, “what’s that you said?”
“Haw, haw, haw!” laughed Telescope, slapping Zeb on the back. “You can’t keep things like that a secret around here, old-timer. What’ll we bring to the charivari—sheep-shears or tin cans?”
Zeb sets there, working his jaws faster and faster over his tobacco, and pretty soon he looks up at Muley. Muley grins at him, and nods. That’s the last straw.
“Muley’s going to buy out Zeb and marry his niece,” slates Telescope to Johnny Myers, owner of the Triangle brand. “Muley’s going to be a sheep-king, Johnny.”
All this time Zeb has been getting off the fence, and he’s so mad that he dances a jig in the dust when he hits the ground.