"As long as you like—a week if you want."
"What'll I do then—don't you need me?"
"No, play with your toes if you like."
Lathy George pulled his reeling cayuse together, and pushed on. Carney gave a whistle, and FitzHerbert, wheeling his bay, turned. "I've got to go back to town," Carney said.
"I'll go too," the other volunteered; "this devilish boundlessness is like a painted sky above a painted ocean—it gives me the lonely willies."
"There's hell to pay back yonder," Carney said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"It's always back there, or over yonder—never here when there's any hell to pay," FitzHerbert commented dejectedly; "it's just one long plaintive sabbath."
"I've got to go back to the foothills soon's I've got fixed up," Carney continued.
"Me, too—if there's action there."
"Hardly, my dear boy; it's purely a matter of diplomacy."