“Thinking!” sneered Swing.  “That’s a new one—­for you.”

“Nemmine,” countered Racey.  “It ain’t catchin’—­to you.”

“Is that so?” yammered Swing, now over his head as far as repartee was concerned.  “Is that so?  What you gassing about Arizona for thisaway?  You gonna renig on the trip?”

“I’ll bet there’s plenty of good jobs we can find right here in Farewell,” dodged Racey. “And vicinity,” he amended.  “Yep, Swing, old-timer, I’ll bet the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box would hire us just too quick.  Shore they would.  It ain’t every day they get a chance at a jo-darter of a buster like—­”

“Like the damndest liar in four states meaning you,” cut in Swing.

“You’re right,” admitted Racey, promptly.  “When I was speaking of a jo-darter I meant you, so I was a liar.  I admit it.  I might ‘a’ known you wouldn’t appreciate my kind words.  Besides being several other things, you’re an ungrateful cuss.  Gimme the makin’s.”

“Smoke yore own, you hunk of misery.  You had four extra sacks in yore warbags this morning.”

“Had?  So you been skirmishin’ round my warbags, have you?  How many of those sacks did you rustle?”

“I left two.”

“Two!  Two!  Say, I bought that tobacco myself for my own personal use, and not for a lazy, loafing, cow-faced lump of slumgullion to glom and smoke.  Why don’t you spend something besides the evening now and then?  Gawda-mighty, you sit on yore coin closer than a hen with one egg!  I’ll gamble that Robinson Crusoe spent more money in a week than you spend in four years.  Two sacks of my smoking.  You got a gall like a hoss.  There was my extra undershirt under those sacks.  It’s a wonder you didn’t smouch that, too.”

“It didn’t fit,” replied Swing Tunstall, placidly constructing a cigarette.  “Too big.  Besides, all the buttons was off, and if they’s anything I despise it’s a undershirt without any buttons.  Sort of wandering off the main trail though, ain’t we, Racey?  We was talking about Arizona, wasn’t we?”

“We was not,” Racey contradicted, quickly.  “We was talking about a job here in Fort Creek County.  T’ell with Arizona.”

“T’ell with Arizona, huh?  You’re serious?  You mean it?”

“I’m serious as lead in yore inwards.  ’Course I mean it.  Ain’t I been saying so plain as can be the last half-hour?”

“You’re saying so is plain enough.  And so is the whyfor.”

“The whyfor?”

“Shore, the whyfor.  Say, do you take me for a damfool?  Here you use up the best part of two days on a trip I could make in ten hours going slow and eating regular.  Who is she, cowboy, who is she?”

“What you talking about?”

“What am I talking about, huh?  I’d ask that, I would.  Yeah, I would so.  Is she pretty?”

“Poor feller’s got a hangover,” Racey murmured in pity.  “I kind o’ thought it must be something like that when he began to talk so funny.  Now I’m shore of it.  You tie a wet towel round yore head, Swing, and take a good pull of cold water.  You’ll feel better in the morning.”