“I was jest rememberin’ that black-whiskered gent’s talk. Yuh mind, Shorty? He says to us that Luther Fox don’t pay out good money to undersized gents that can’t do a man’s work.”
“Man’s work! I showed him what a man——”
“Dry up. Fergit it. Yuh don’t foller my meanin’. Luther Fox must own that cow outfit that Black Whiskers works for. Sabe?”
“Uh-huh. And supposin’ he does? What of it? Go on from there, big ’un, and let’s see if yore words makes sense.”
“Well, from where I was settin’, that round-up looked like a big spread. They was holdin’ a herd that a man couldn’t shoot across. Looked like three hundred head uh hosses in their remuda. If this Fox feller owns that outfit, he’s one danged big cowman, and son, we shore set into a hard game if we’ve hurt the ol’ rannyhan’s feelin’s. I don’t like the lay uh the land, Shorty; None whatsomever.
“If that ol’ wolf sets his mind to it, our hides’ll be hangin’ on the fence afore mornin’. Yeah. And if him and his black-muzzled wagon boss ever gits tuh makin’ medicine and the black gent ’lows we’re the same parties that rode into his camp and raised a ruckus, me and you is due tuh stretch some rope.”
“That big bohunk of a quartz wrangler’ll be rearin’ tuh work in the lead uh sech a necktie party, too,” was Shorty’s wry comment. “What’ll we do, Taddie? Shucks, I hates tuh stay bogged down here till they come tuh hang us. I don’t have no —— of a lot uh confidence in that ol’ sheriff feller, if it comes to a fight.”
“Yuh might uh done some heavy thinkin’ along them lines afore yuh got us into all this, yuh fire-swallerin’ li’l’ ol’ rooster. Now gimme butts on that smoke so’s I kin smudge some thoughts outa my brain.”
II
“‘Way up high in the Mokiones, among the mountain tops,
A lion cleaned a yearlin’s bones and licked his thankful chops;
When who upon the scene should ride, a trippin’ down the slope,
But High-Chin Bob of sinful pride and maverick-hungry rope.’”