Weary rode straight past the lank man, whom he judged to be
Oleson, and overtook Dunk Whittaker himself.

"Hello, Dunk," he said cheerfully, sliding over in the saddle so
that a foot hung free of the stirrup, as men who ride much have
learned to do when they stop for a chat, thereby resting while
they may. "Back on the old stamping ground, are you?"

"Since you see me here, I suppose I am," Dunk made churlish
response.

"Do you happen to own those Dot sheep, back there on the hill?"
Weary tilted his head toward home.

"I happen to own half of them." By then they had reached the gate
and Dunk passed through and started on to the house.

"Oh, don't be in a rush--come on back and be sociable," Weary
called out, in the mildest of tones, twisting the reins around
his saddle-horn so that he might roll a cigarette at ease.

Dunk remembered, perhaps, certain things he had learned when he
was J. G. Whitmore's partner, and had more or less to do with the
charter members of the Happy Family. He came back and stood by
the gate, ungraciously enough, to be sure; still, he came back.
Weary smiled under cover of lighting his cigarette. Dunk, by that
reluctant compliance, betrayed something which Weary had been
rather anxious to know.

"We've been having a little trouble with those sheep of yours,"