boys be out?" Lance pulled a splinter off the rail
beside him and began separating the fibers with his finger nails that
were too well cared for to belong to the Black Rim folk.

"I dunno, me."

"Scotty sure was crazy, Sam. He tried twice to kill me. Once he jumped
up and ran into the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife off the table
and came at me. He thought I was there to rob him. He called me Tom."

"Yeah," said Sam Pretty Cow, blowing smoke. "He's damn lucky you ain't
Tom. Uh-huh--you bet."

Lance lifted his eyebrows, was silent while he watched Shorty limping
down from the house, this time with table scraps for the chickens.

"Scotty was certainly crazy," Lance turned again to Sam. "Over and
over he kept saying, while he looked up at the ceiling, 'The Lorrigan
days are numbered. Though the wicked flourish like a green bay tree,
they shall perish as dry grass. The days are numbered--their evil days
are numbered.'"

Sam Pretty Cow smoked, flicked the ash from his cigarette with a
coppery forefinger, looked suddenly full at Lance and grinned widely.

"Uh-huh. So's them stars numbered, all right. I dunno, me. Tom
Lorrigan's damn smart man." He reached down for an old bridle and
grinned again. "Scotty, I guess he don' say how many numbers them days
is, you bet." He started off, trailing his bridle reins carelessly in
the dust.

"If you're going to catch up a horse, Sam, I wish you'd haze in the
best one on the ranch for me."

Sam Pretty Cow paused, half turned, spat meditatively into the dust
and jerked a thumb toward the stable.

"Me, I dunno. Bes' horse on the ranch is in them box stall. Them's
Coaley. I guess you don' want Coaley, huh?"

Lance bit his lip, looking at Sam Pretty Cow intently.

"You needn't catch up a horse for me, Sam. I'll ride Coaley," he said
smoothly. Which brought a surprised grunt from Sam Pretty Cow, Indian
though he was, accustomed though he was to the ways of the Lorrigans.

But it was not his affair if Lance and his father quarreled when Tom
returned. Indeed, Tom might not return very soon, in which case he
would not hear anything about Lance's audacity unless Lance himself
told it. Sam Pretty Cow would never mention it, and Shorty would not
say a word. Shorty never did say anything if he could by any means
keep silence.

Lance returned to the house, taking long strides that, without seeming
hurried, yet suggested haste. He presently came down the path again,
this time wi