Waco saw the rider, and asked who he was.

"It's High Chin, the foreman. You been ridin' one of his string of
horses--the black there."

"He's your boss?"

"Yes. And I'm right sorry he's ridin' into this camp. You was talkin' of
feelin's. Well, he ain't got any."

Brewster loped up and dismounted. "What's your tally, kid?"

Lorry shook his head. "Only this," he said jokingly.

Brewster glanced at Waco. "Maverick, all right. Where'd you rope _him_?"

"I run onto him holdin' up some tourists down by the Notch. I'm driftin'
him over to Stacey."

High Chin's eyes narrowed. "Was he ridin' that horse?" And he pointed to
the black.

Lorry admitted that he had found the horse tied in the brush near the
Notch.

High Chin swung round. "You fork your bronc and get busy. There's eighty
head and over strayin' in here, and the old man ain't payin' you to
entertain hobos. I'll herd this hombre to camp."