"That horse bucks every time he's rode," says Jeff.
Old Tom knowed he'd come to the end of his string but that didn't ease his feelings any, and he was looking for some way of letting some of them feelings out before they choked him. When he spots Clint a standing to one side and by Smoky.
"You're fired," he hollered, pointing a finger at him, "I'll get somebody to take the buck out of that horse, and the sooner you're off this range the better I'll like it."
Clint just grinned at Old Tom, which made him all the madder, and about then Jeff spoke:
"I'm doing the hiring and firing on this outfit, Tom, and as long as I'm working for you I'll keep on a doing it."
Old Tom turned on him like a wild cat. "Fine!" he hollered, "you can go too."
The old cowman had went as far as he could, and as he walked away to catch himself another saddle horse, he had a hunch that he'd also went further than he should; that hunch got stronger as he went on saddling, and as he gave the latigo a last yank, it all developed into plain common sense that he'd sure enough went too far.
But Old Tom wasn't for giving in, not right then anyway. He got on his horse and riding close enough so Jeff could hear, says:
"You and Clint can come to the ranch and I'll have your time ready for you," and then to another rider,—"you handle the outfit till I send out another foreman."
A lot of orneriness was scattered to the winds as Old Tom covered the long fifty miles back to the ranch, and as he opened the big gate leading in, a brand new feeling had come over him,—he was for catching a fresh horse the next morning early and high-tail it back to the wagon to sort of smooth things over best as he could.