“Hasn’t been for a week,” said Conley.
“Pretty good bluff, at that,” said Clayton. “It’s all right with me. Any old time you point one of them twin tubes at my anatomy, I sag visibly.”
“What’s it goin’ to get you?” demanded Regan. “Put down them guns. You’re goin’ to town with us.”
“Not now, Regan. The Big 4 can’t arrest me. If you’ve got a complaint to make, go to the sheriff.”
“Oh, yes! And have him pull a deal with us like he did with Pete.”
“Then go home and mind your own business. I’m not goin’ to town with you, Regan. I don’t care to see you two any longer than I have to. I fenced this place to keep all the Big 4’s off my land; so you better pilgrim home.”
Clayton mounted hurriedly.
“We’ll come back, Conley,” said Regan. “You’ve butchered eight of our steers on your land, and if the Big 4 don’t wipe you off the earth, I’ll miss my guess.”
They whirled their horses and galloped off down the road. Regan was so mad he spurred his pet saddle horse unmercifully on the way to the gate. The sun was just going down. He wasn’t certain just what to do. They drew rein at the gate.
“What are you laughin’ about?” demanded Regan.