"You've been havin' company here lately," Crawford went on. "Who's yore guest?"
"You seem to be right now. You and yore friend the convict," sneered the short cowpuncher.
"Don't use that word again, Shorty," advised the ranchman in a voice gently ominous.
"Why not? True, ain't it? Doesn't deny it none, does he?"
"We'll not discuss that. Where were you yesterday?"
"Here, part o' the day. Where was you?" demanded Shorty impudently.
"Seems to me I heard you was right busy."
"What part of the day? Begin at the beginnin' and tell us what you did.
You may put yore hands down."
"Why, I got up in the mo'nin' and put on my pants an' my boots," jeered
Shorty. "I don't recolleck whether I put on my hat or not. Maybe I did. I
cooked breakfast and et it. I chawed tobacco. I cooked dinner and et it.
Smoked and chawed some more. Cooked supper and et it. Went to bed."
"That all?"
"Why, no, I fed the critters and fixed up a busted stirrup."