"So when you talk about that foreman job, and depending on me,
you're--plumb delirious. I was going to write and tell you so, but I
kept putting it off. And then I took a notion I'd hunt you up and give
you some good advice. You're a good fellow, Ches, but the court ought to
appoint a guardian for you."
"I'll stick around for three or four weeks," Mason observed, in the
casual tone of one who is merely discussing the details of an everyday
affair, "till the calves are all gathered. We're a little late this
year, on account of old Slow dying right in round-up time. We got most
of the beef shipped--all I care about gathering, this fall. I've got
most all young stock, and it won't hurt to let 'em run another season;
there ain't many. I'll let you take the wagons out, and I'll go with you
till you get kinda harness-broke. And--"
"I told you I don't want the job." Ford's mouth was set grimly.
"You tried to tell me what I want and what I don't want," Mason
corrected amiably. "Now I've got my own ideas on that subject. This here
outfit belongs to me. I like to pick my men to suit myself; and if I
want a certain man for foreman, I guess I've got a right to hire him--if
he'll let himself be hired.
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