“Whatcha goin’ to do with the ranch, Windy?” he asks.
“Run it.”
“You don’t own it.”
“What the —— has that got to do with it, Hack? She don’t owe nobody a cent, and there’s over a thousand head of good cows—or was, until the last time the Bar 20 branded.”
“Yeah? Well, I reckon I’ll be driftin’ on.”
He nods to me and Hashknife, and then rides back down the road.
“Windy,” says Hashknife. “Would yuh mind gossipin’ a little? Me and Sleepy don’t sabe the state of affairs around here.”
“Just ordinary,” says Windy. “She begins quite a long time ago, gents. This here range used to be milk, honey and brotherly love, you know it? Sure she did. Blazer Thorn and Mike Haley was thicker than thieves until one day Mike stops for supper at the Bar 20. I reckon that Mike had a scoop or two under his belt and he feels comical. He says to Blazer, ‘Know why I eats here so often?’ Blazer says, ‘Why?’
“Old Mike says, ‘I like the taste of my own beef.’
“Well, Blazer must ’a’ been dyspeptic or somethin’ that day, ’cause he kicks back his chair and calls Mike a —— liar. Mike’s plumb hard-boiled and he don’t think that any man knows enough about him to call him a name like that, but some punchers grabbed the two of ’em and stopped a piece of gun-play. Blazer orders Mike off the ranch. Mike was joshin’ at first, but he’s been losin’ a lot of stock, and he gets to thinkin’—him bein’ sore anyway, and well—yuh know them things grows. Blazer’s plumb wild. Swears that the Circle Dot is stealin’ his cows, the same of which changes this country a heap, scaring out the bees and smearin’ the honey in the mud.