Mr. Saltoun nodded.
"I remember," he said.
"Them cows," Loudon said, distinctly, "are in a blind cañon south o' Smoky Peak, along with Hawg Pen an' Cross-in-a-box cattle. That is, most of 'em are there. The rest yuh'll have to pick out o' the 88 herds, I guess."
Mr. Saltoun's capitulation was instant and handsome.
"You was right!" he exclaimed, warmly, holding out his hand. "You was right all along. I shore had the 88 sized up wrong, an'"—vigorously pumping Loudon's hand—"any time yuh want a job there's one at the Bar S for yuh. Er—my range-boss is quittin' next month. What do yuh say to his job?"
"Now that's right good hearin'," replied Loudon, "but I guess I'll stick with the Flyin' M awhile. Thank yuh just as much."
"Oh, that's all right. Any time yuh feel like makin' a change, why, yuh know where to come. Well, I got to be goin'. Say, Mike, don't forget to order them collars for my buckboard harness."
"I shore won't. So long."
Loudon followed Mr. Saltoun into the street.
"Somethin' new, ain't it?" queried Loudon, flicking a thumb at the buckboard.