CHAPTER VII. WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK

It was late that night when I reached the herd. Before I parted
with my employer we had carefully reviewed the situation in its
minutest details. Since the future could not be foreseen, we
could only watch and wait. The Texan may have his shortcomings,
but lack of fidelity to a trust is not one of them, and relying
on the metal of my outfit, I at once put them in possession of
the facts. At first their simple minds could hardly grasp the
enormity of the injustice to our employer, but once the land lay
clear, they would gladly have led a forlorn hope in Don Lovell's
interests. Agitation over the matter was maintained at white heat
for several days, as we again angled back towards the Cimarron.
Around the camp-fires at night, the chicanery of The Western
Supply Company gave place to the best stories at our command.
"There ought to be a law," said Runt Pickett, in wrathy
indignation, "making it legal to kill some people, same as
rattlesnakes. Now, you take a square gambler and I don't think
anything of losing my money against his game, but one of these
sneaking, under-dealing, top-and-bottom-business pimps, I do
despise. You can find them in every honest calling, same as
vultures hover round when cattle are dying. Honest, fellows, I'd
just dearly love to pull on a rope and watch one of the varmints
make his last kick."

Several days of showery weather followed. Crossing the Cimarron,
we followed up its north slope to within thirty miles of the
regular western trail. Not wishing to intercept it until
necessity compelled us, when near the Kansas line we made our