Loudon, his eye-corners puckered, stared at the owner of the Bar S. The cowboy's gaze was curious, speculative, and it greatly lacked respect. Instead of replying to Mr. Saltoun's question, Loudon sheathed his six-shooter, squatted down on his heels and began to roll a cigarette.
"I asked yuh what yuh did that for?" reiterated blundering Mr. Saltoun.
Again Loudon favoured his employer with that curious and speculative stare.
"I'll tell yuh," Loudon said, gently. "I talked to Block because it's about time someone did. He's in with the rustlers—Blakely an' that bunch. If you wasn't blinder'n a flock of bats you'd see it, too."
"You can't talk to me this way!" cried the furious Mr. Saltoun.
"I'm doin' it," observed Loudon, placidly.
"Yo're fired!"
"Not by a jugful I ain't. I quit ten minutes ago."
"You——" began Mr. Saltoun.
"Don't," advised Loudon, his lips parting in a mirthless smile.