"Say, Jim," he began, when he ran that individual to earth in the
stable, where, with a pair of sheep shears, he was roaching the mane of
a shaggy old cow pony to please Buddy, who wanted to make him look like
a circus horse, even if there was no hope of his ever acting like one.
"I'm going to hand you the lines and let you drive, for a few days. I've
got to scout around on business of my own, and I don't know just how
long it's going to take me. I'm going right away--to-day."
"Yeah?" Jim poised the shears in air and regarded him quizzically over
the pony's neck. "Going to pass me foreman's privilege--to hire and
fire?" he grinned. "Because I may as well tell you that if you do, Dick
won't be far behind you on the trail."
"Oh, darn Dick. I'll fire him myself, maybe, before I leave. Yes," he
added, thinking swiftly of Josephine as the object of Dick's desires,
"that's what I'll do. Maybe it'll save a lot of trouble while I'm gone.
He's a tricky son-of-a-gun."
"You're dead right; he is," Jim agreed. And then, dryly: "Grandmother
just died?"
"Oh, shut up. This ain't an excuse--it's business.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230