"Miss Collie, air you-all goin' to sit up thar?" inquired the taller
cowboy, a lean, supple, and powerful fellow, with a rough, red-blue
face, hard as a rock, and steady, bright eyes.

"I sure am, Jim," she replied, imperturbably.

"But we've gotta hawg-tie him," protested the cowboy.

"Yes, I know. And you're going to be gentle about it."

Jim scratched his sandy head and looked at his comrade, a little gnarled
fellow, like the bleached root of a tree. He seemed all legs.

"You hear, you Wyomin' galoot," he said to Jim. "Them shoes goes on
Whang right gentle."

Jim grinned, and turned to speak to his mustang. "Whang, the law's laid
down an' we wanta see how much hoss sense you hev."

The shaggy mustang did not appear to be favorably impressed by this
speech. It was a mighty distrustful look he bent upon the speaker.

"Jim, seein' as how this here job's aboot the last Miss Collie will ever
boss us on, we gotta do it without Whang turnin' a hair," drawled the
other cowboy.

"Lem, why is this the last job I'll ever boss you boys?" demanded
Columbine, quickly.

Jim gazed quizzically at her, and Lem assumed that blank, innocent face