"I never saw a wart on a steer," spoke Bud, as he urged his pony nearer to where the strange cowboy stood on the ground close to the beef animal. "It's queer——"
There was a sudden movement. Pocut Pete leaped back and the steer, as though taking fright at Bud's advance, lowered its head, and, with a loud bellow, sprang away.
"I told you so!" called out Old Billee. "You might 'a' got horned, Pete!"
"Oh, I was watching," came the answer. "Yes, warts do, sometimes, come on cattle," he went on. "I've cut off lots of 'em. Some beef men won't pass 'em if they have any. I thought I was doing you a favor." He spoke in an injured tone of voice.
"Well, maybe you were," admitted Bud. "First I thought you were someone else."
"One of the Double Z bunch?" asked Pocut Pete with a laugh. "Did you find out anything over there?" he inquired as he caught his pony, which had been standing near-by, and leaped into the saddle.
"Nary a thing," voiced Old Billee.
And then, as the group, Pocut Pete included, headed back for camp, the old cowboy broke into song, roaring out:
"Send me a letter, kid,
Write it yo'self!
Put in some news of th' city.
For it's lonesome out here,
'Neath th' blue, starry sky,
An' cowboys don't get any pity!"
"What's struck you?" laughed Bud.