“Blood thicker than water, eh?”
“Probably. Anyway, I hate sheep.”
King sighed deeply and threw open the tent flap.
“Sometimes I hate ’em myself,” he said softly, as they went outside.
The men crowded around them, realizing that Jack was an outsider. His horse had just been brought in by one of the sheepmen. But none of them questioned King.
“This is one of the cattlemen,” he said to them. “He is going back now, and I’d like to have one of you go with him until he passes our lines.”
“Not with me,” declared Jack. “I’ll circle wide and come out away beyond the sheep. Much obliged, just the same.”
“And tell all yuh know to the cattlemen, eh?” growled one of the men, and then to King:
“If one of ’em can ride into our camp, what’s to stop a dozen of ’em from comin’.”
“That’s my lookout, Steen,” replied King coldly. “All he knows won’t hurt us any.”