When he arrived at the Concho he unsaddled, turned his pony into the
corral, and called to Chance. He was at the water-trough washing the
dog's muzzle when John Corliss appeared. Fadeaway straightened up. He
knew what was coming and knew that he deserved it. The effects of his
conviviality at the Blue had worn off, leaving him in an ugly mood.

Corliss looked him over from head to heel. Then he glanced at the dog.
Chance turned his head down and sideways, avoiding his master's eye.
Fadeaway laughed.

"You get your time!" said Corliss.

"You're dam' right!" retorted Fadeaway.

"And you're damned wrong! Chance knows better than to tackle sheep
unless he's put up to it. You needn't explain. Bud will give you your
time."

Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in.

"Chain that dog up and keep him chained up! And give Fadeaway his
time, right up to the minute!"

Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral,
and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him.

Fadeaway rolled a cigarette and strolled over to the bunk-house where
he retailed his visit and its climax to a group of interested punchers.

"So he tied the can onto you, eh? And for settin' Chance on the sheep?