"Then let's pass the hat," suggested the first speaker.

"Wait!" said Cheyenne, drawing a pair of dice from his pocket. "Somehow,
and sometime, I aim to shoot Panhandle a little game. Then you guys can
pass the hat for the loser. Panhandle left them dice on the flat rock,
by the water-hole. My pardner, Bartley, found them."

"Kind of sign talk that Pan pulled one on you," said Lon Pelly.

"He sure left his brains behind him when he left them dice," asserted
Cheyenne. "I suspicioned that it was him--but the dice told me, plain."

"So you figure to walk up to Pan and invite him to shoot a little game,
when you meet up with him?" queried a puncher.

"That's me."

"The tenderfoot"--he referred to Bartley--"is he goin' along with you?"

"He ain't so tender as you might think," said Cheyenne. "He's green, but
not so dam' tender."

"Well, it's right sad. He looks like a pretty decent hombre."

"What's sad?" queried Cheyenne belligerently.

"Why, gettin' that tenderfoot all shot up, trailin' a couple of
twenty-dollar cayuses. They ain't worth it."