Sounds indicated that the wave of recrimination was rolling nearer.
Andy turned to find himself within arm's length of Uncle Pete.

"Maybe this is your idea of a practical joke, Green," he said to Andy.
"But anyway, it will cost you your job. I ought to charge you up with
the time my outfit has spent gallivanting around the country on the
strength of your wild yarn. The quicker you hit the trail, the better
it will suit me. By the way, what's your first name?" He asked,
pulling out a check-book.

"Andy," answered the unrepentant one.

"Andy," Uncle Peter paused with a fountain pen between his fingers. He
looked Andy up and down, and the frown left his face. He proceeded to
write out the check, and when it was done he handed it over with a
pleased smile.

"What did you do it for, Green?" he queried in a friendlier tone.

"Self-defence," Andy told him laconically, and turned away.

Half an hour later, Andy and Pink trailed out of the coulee that
sheltered the Rocking R. When they were out and away from the fence,
and Pink's horses, knowing instinctively that they were homeward
bound, were jogging straight west without need of guidance, Andy felt
in his pocket for cigarette material. His fingers came in contact with
the check Uncle Peter had given him, and he drew it forth and looked
it over again.

"Well, by gracious!" he said to himself. "Uncle Peter thinks we're