"You ain't expectin' to ride our stock on this fool chase, are you?"
"I'll ride the first good bronc I get my knees clamped to, Joe."
"As regards that, you'll get my answer like shot off'n a shovel. None of the Flyin' V Y remuda is goin'."
Wrayburn cantered around the point of the herd to the swing, from the swing back to the drag, and then forward to the left point. In the circuit he had stopped to sound out each rider.
"We all have decided that ten of us will go back, Joe," he announced serenely. "That leaves enough to loose-herd the beeves whilst we're away."
Yankie grew purple with rage. "If you go you'll walk. I'll show you who's foreman here."
"No use raisin' a rookus, Joe," replied the old Confederate mildly.
"We're goin'. Yore authority doesn't stretch far enough to hold us here."
"I'll show you!" stormed the foreman. "Some of you will go to sleep in smoke if you try to take any of my remuda."
"Now don't you-all be onreasonable, Joe. We got to go. Cayn't you get it through yore cocoanut that we've got to stand by our pardners?"
"That killer Clanton is no pardner of mine. I meant to burn powder with him one of these days myself. If Wally Snaith beats me to it I'm not goin' to wear black," retorted Yankie.