Full, the spokesman.

"When?"

"Oh, any day along this week."

"Can't spare you till after Christmas."

"Maybe you'll not object to one of us goin'?"

"You'll each have your turn after this week."

A slight pause followed. Then Half-past Full said: "What would you do if
I went, anyway?"

"Can't imagine," Drake answered, easily. "Go, and I'll be in a position
to inform you."

The buccaroo dropped his stolid bull eyes, but raised them again and
grinned. "Well, I'm not particular about goin' this week, boss."

"That's not my name," said Drake, "but it's what I am."

They stood a moment. Then they shuffled out. It was an orderly
retreat--almost.

Drake winked over to Bolles. "That was a graze," said he, and smoked for
a while. "They'll not go this time. Question is, will they go next?"