Uncle Hozie Wheeler’s Flying H was a larger outfit, employing three cowboys, Lonnie Myers, Dan Leach and “Nebrasky” Jones, known as the “Heavenly Triplets,” possibly because there was nothing heavenly about any of them. Lonnie was a loud-talking boy from the Milk River country; Dan Leach hailed from eastern Oregon, and Nebrasky’s cognomen disclosed the State of his nativity. Uncle Hozie called them his debating society and entered into their State arguments in favour of Arizona.
Curt Bellew’s Lazy B supported three cowboys: Eph Harper, “Slim” Coleman and Honey Bee. Mrs. Bellew contended that the ranch could be handled with one man, but that Curt wanted to match Hozie Wheeler in numbers. She pointed out the fact that Buck West could run his 3W3 outfit with only two men, Jimmy Black and Abe Liston, just because Buck wasn’t so lazy he couldn’t do some of the work himself. Which of course was a gentle hint that Curt might do more, himself.
The Circle M ranged more stock than any of the other ranches and only carried three men besides Ed Merrick. Ben Collins, “Dutch” Siebert and Jack Ralston made up the personnel of the Circle M, since Len Kelsey had left them to take up his duties as deputy sheriff under Joe Rich.
It was the morning following the wedding which had not taken place that Joe Rich rode up to the Flying H. All night long he had ridden across the hills, fighting out with himself to decide what to do, and he was a sorry-looking young man when he drew rein near the veranda of the Flying H ranch-house. He had ridden away without coat, hat or chaps. His trouser-legs were torn from riding past brush, his face scratched, his hair dishevelled.
Uncle Hozie saw him from the window and came down to him. Lonnie Myers and Nebrasky were at the corral, saddling their horses. They merely glanced in his direction, recognising him, but paying no attention. Uncle Hozie looked Joe over critically, but said nothing.
“Well, why don’t yuh say somethin’?” demanded Joe wearily. “My God, Hozie, don’t just stand there! Swear at me, if yuh feel thataway.”
Uncle Hozie shook his head slowly and sighed. He had drunk a little too much the night before and his spirits were not overly bright. A tin can rattled loudly, and they looked toward the stable, where Dan Leach was throwing out the stuff they had stacked in the stall for the shivaree.
Joe’s eyes closed tightly for a moment and he turned his head away. He knew what those noise producers had been meant for. A cow-bell clattered among the cans. Lonnie and Nebrasky were watching Joe from the corral.
“I don’t feel like cussin’ anybody,” said Uncle Hozie.
“Not even me?” asked Joe.