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You see, the understandin' with The Spider is, that I'm fo'man of the Olla, case Brent gets bumped off. Mebby The Spider thinks I'm square. Mebby he jest plays me against Brent to keep us watchin' each other. I dunno." "You figure Arguilla will send old man Ortez over the line with the cash?" "Yes. He will now. We done spoiled his game by gittin' loose.
"What's your business down this way?" queried the cowboy. "It's mine. I dunno as it's any of yours." "So? Now, that's mighty queer! Lookin' for the fo'man, eh? Well, go ahead and look they's plenty of room." "Too much," laughed Pete. "Reckon I got to bush here and do my huntin' in the mornin' only" and Pete eyed the other significantly "I kind of hate to bush on the ground.
It ain't likely that Sam Brent was your first job. Your record reads pretty strong for a kid." "Meanin' Gary? Well, about Gary" Pete fumbled in his shirt. "I got a letter here" . . . He studied the closely written sheet for a few seconds, then his face cleared. "Jest run your eye over that. It's from Jim Bailey, who used to be my fo'man on the Concho."
"I was sent over here with Andy to do that same thing. But you're sure welcome to hand out any idees you got, seein' your fo'man ain't here." Andy, who saw the inevitable end of this kind of talk, nudged Pete. "Let's eat," he said. "I reckon we're all willin'."
The officers read the letter, one gazing over the other's shoulder, "Who's this Jim Bailey, anyhow?" "He's a white man fo'man of the Concho, and my boss, onct." "Well, you're lucky if what he says is so. But that don't square you with the other deal." "There's only one man that could do that," said Pete. "And I reckon he ain't ridin' where you could git him." "That's all right, Annersley.
"Well, after all the talk I jest wasted on you, it signifies that you're too thick-headed, Buddy, to waste any more on. I can learn you to spell if you wanta take lessons." "You're dreamin', Brand. Wake up! As to spellin' I'm spellin' right now while the fo'man is entertainin' me." "Thanks for callin' my attention to it. You can take your hoss and ride over to the Three Oaks.
To Shoop's genial wave of farewell they returned a whoop that seemed edged with a vague challenge. Pat, who was watching them, asked Shoop who the man was riding the pinto. "Why, that's High-Chin Bob Brewster, Starr fo'man. He's kind of a wild bird. I reckon he came over here lookin' for trouble. He's been walkin' around with his wings and tail spread like he was mad at somethin'."
Over on the edge of the bunk-house veranda sat four or five of the Concho boys. They rocked back and forth and slapped their legs and shouted. It was a trying situation. The foreman, Bailey, rose as Pete limped up. "We're livin' over here," said Bailey. "Did you want to see some one?" Pete wet his lips. "The fo'man. I I jest rid over to see how you was makin' it." "Why, we 're doin' right fair.
"I aim to know about that," chuckled Shoop. And he smoothed out the paper and pointed to the Adams House sale notice. "The Adams House for sale? Why " "Jim and Annie that's Jim Waring and Mrs. Waring now are goin' to run the ranch. I'm mighty glad." "Oh, I see! And Lorry is really Laurence Waring?" "You bet! And I reckon Lorry'll be fo'man of that ranch one of these days.
"What I'm gittin' at is, Roth over to Concho said last night if I was to go over to Bailey he's the fo'man of the Concho outfit and ask him for a job, I could mebby land one. Roth, he said he'd outfit me and leave me to pay for it from my wages. Andy White, he's pluggin' for me over to the ranch. I ain't said nothin' to you, for I wa'n't sure but Roth he says mebby I could git a job.
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