Jack Harpe laughed without a sound. It seemed to be a habit of his to laugh silently.
"You saw me with Lanpher, didn't you? Well, Lanpher and I are just friends, thassall. My cattle won't graze far enough south to overlap on the 88 anywheres."
"Nor the Bar S?" suggested Racey.
"Nor the Bar S."
"That's sensible." Thus Racey, watching closely Jack Harpe from under lowered lids.
Did his last remark strike a glint from the other man's eyes? He thought it did. Certainly Jack Harpe's eyes had narrowed suddenly and slightly.
"Yeah," Jack Harpe said, "I ain't counting on having any fussing with either the 88 or the Bar S. Of course Baldy Barbee and the Anvil are different. Dunno how they'll take it. Dunno that I care—much."
"Which is why you're payin' fifty per."
Jack Harpe nodded. "Yep. Gotta be prepared for them fellers—Baldy
Barbee and the Anvil outfit."
"You're right," assented Racey Dawson. "Mustn't let 'em catch you napping. You would look foolish then, wouldn't you?" He broke off with a sounding laugh and slapped a silly leg.