were getting little crow's-feet at their corners--turned to
look after the departing Andy. "Where's the josh?" he
questioned the group.

"The josh is, that he'd like to see us all het up over it,
and makin' war-talks and laying for the pilgrims some dark
night with our six-guns, most likely," retorted Pink, who
happened to be in a bad humor because in ten minutes he was
due at a line of post-holes that divided the big pasture into
two unequal parts. "He can't agitate me over anybody's
troubles but my own. Happy, I'll help Bud stretch wire this
afternoon if you'll tamp the, rest uh them posts."

"Aw, you stick to your own job! How was it when I wanted you
to help pull the old wire off that hill fence and git it
ready to string down here? You wasn't crazy about workin'
with bob wire then, I noticed. You said--"

"What I said wasn't a commencement to what I'll say again,"
Pink began truculently, and so the subject turned effectually
from Andy Green.

Weary smoked meditatively while they wrangled, and when the
group broke up for the afternoon's work he went unobtrusively
in search of Andy. He was not quite easy in his mind
concerning the alleged joke. He had looked full at the
possibilities of the situation--granting Andy had told the
truth, as he sometimes did--and the possibilities had not
pleased him. He found Andy morosely replacing some broken
strands in his cinch, and he went straight at the mooted