He ought to be much obliged to you, Fade. They ain't room for sheep
and cattle both on this here range. We're gettin' backed plumb into
the sunset."

Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken.

"And ole man Loring's just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex.,"
continued the puncher. "Wonder how Corliss likes that?"

"Don' know--and dam' 'f I care. If a guy can't have a little sport
without gettin' fired for it, why, that guy don't work for the Concho.
The Blue's good enough for me and I can get a job ridin' for the Blue
any time I want to cinch up."

"Well, Fade, I reckon you better cinch up pronto, then," said Shoop who
had just entered. "Here's your time. Jack's some sore, believe me!"

"Sore, eh? Well, before he gets through with me he'll be sorer. You
can tell him for me."

"'Course I _can_--but I ain't goin' to. And I wouldn't if I was you.
No use showin' your hand so early in the game." And Shoop laughed.

"Well, she's full--six aces," said Fadeaway, touching his holster
significantly.

"And Jack throws the fastest gun on the Concho," said Shoop, his genial
smile gone; his face flushed. "I been your friend, if I do say it,
Fade. But don't you go away with any little ole idea that I ain't
workin' for Jack Corliss."