have a grudge agin' him, though; just about everybody has, that ever
bumped into him."

It would appear that Mr. Dill needed time to think this over, for he
said nothing more for a long while. Charming Billy half turned once or
twice to importune his pack-pony in language humorously querulous,
but beyond that he kept silence, wondering what freakish impulse drove
Alexander P. Dill to Montana "to raise wild cattle for the Eastern
markets." The very simplicity of his purpose and the unsophistication
of his outlook were irresistible and came near weaning Charming Billy
from considering his own personal grievances.

For a grievance it was to be turned adrift from the Double-Crank--he,
who had come to look upon the outfit almost with proprietorship; who
for years had said "my outfit" when speaking of it; who had set
the searing iron upon sucking calves and had watched them grow to
yearlings, then to sleek four-year-olds; who had at last helped prod
them up the chutes into the cars at shipping time and had seen them
take the long trail to Chicago--the trail from which, for them, there
was no return; who had thrown his rope on kicking, striking "bronks";
had worked, with the sweat streaming like tears down his cheeks, to
"gentle" them; had, with much patience, taught them the feel of saddle
and cinch and had ridden them with much stress until they accepted his
mastery and became the dependable, wise old "cow-horses" of the range;
who had followed, spring, summer and fall, the wide wandering of the
Double-Crank wagons, asking nothing better, secure in the knowledge
that he, Charming Billy Boyle, was conceded to be one of the
Double-Crank's "top-hands." It was bitter to be turned adrift--and for
such a cause! Because he had fought a man who was something less than
a man. It was bitter to feel that he had been condemned without a