.

At the very moment Sage-brush suggested gun-play, Show Low snorted his
loudest.

"What's that?" asked Sage-brush, grabbing his revolver.

"Show Low. He's a regular brass band when he gets started--from the
big trombone down to the tin whistle," laughed Fresno.

"It's a wonder he can sleep alongside of that noise."

"He can't," Fresno volunteered. "He'll wake himself up in a minute.
He's off now."

The snores of Show Low grew more frequent until he climaxed his
accompaniment to sleep with one awful snort, which awakened him. "Eh,
what's that?" he yelled, as he bounded to a sitting posture.

"Didn't I tell you?" queried Fresno.

Sage-brush grinned and slowly arose, gathering up his saddle and rope.

Swinging one over each arm, he started toward the corral, saying: "Come
on, boys, we got a lot to do to-day. Git your hosses."

The night riders, were coming into camp greeting their comrades with
grunts, or in a few words telling them what to guard against in some
particular part of the grazing herd.

The sun had risen. The cattle were on their feet browsing the short,
sweet grass, moving slowly toward the river.

"Work," growled Show Low, "darn me if I ain't commenced to hate it."

Fresno picked up his saddle to follow his foreman, but paused long
enough to fire this parting shot at the cook: "Say, Parenthesis, if
them biscuits you're makin' is as hard as the last bunch, save four of
'em for me. I want to shoe that pony of mine."

Parenthesis threw a tin cup at Fresno, who dodged it. Punching the
dough viciously, he said: "Darn this housekeepin'. Gets a feller's
hands all rough,--it's enough to spile the disposition of a saint."

His soliloquy was interrupted by Buck McKee riding up to the wagon from
Lazy K outfit, which was camping a mile below them.

"Hello, Cookie! How goes it?" was his greeting.

"You wind it up, and it goes eight days." Parenthesis bellowed, his
temper fast reaching the breaking-point.

"Jack Payson ain't back yet?" Buck asked, paying no attention to the
bad humor of Parenthesis.

"Not that I knows on."

The cook rolled the dough with elaborate care.

"Nor Hoover?"

"Ain't seen him," he replied curtly.

"Well, they ain't comin' back, either. They pulled it off pretty slick
on us fellers. Hoover he lets Payson go and makes a bluff at chasin'
after him. Then they gets off somewhere, splits up the money, and
gives us the laugh."

Parenthesis turned on him in an