To do his bidding, Dade flicked the reins upon Surry’s neck and rode ahead, the others closely following.  Thirty feet from the wagon a great dog of the color called brindle disputed his advance with bristling hair and throaty grumble.

“Lay down, Tige!  Wait till you’re asked to take a holt,” advised the man on the wagon, regarding the group with an air of perfect neutrality.  Tige obeying sullenly, to the extent that he crouched where he was and still growled; his master rested his elbows on his great, bony knees, sucked at a short-stemmed clay pipe and waited developments.

“How d’yuh do?” Dade, holding Surry as close to the belligerent Tige as was wise, tried to make his greeting as neutral as the attitude of the other.

“Tol’ble, thank yuh, how’s y’self?  Shet your trap, Tige!  Tige thought you was all greasers, and he ain’t made up his mind yet whether he likes ’em mixed—­whites and greasers.  I dunno’s I blame ’im, either.  We ain’t either of us had much call to hanker after the dark meat.  T’other day a bunch come boilin’ up outa the dim distance like they was sent fur and didn’t have much time to git here.  Tied their tongues into hard knots tryin’ to tell me somethin’ I didn’t have time to listen to, and looked like they wanted to see my hide hangin’ on a fence.

“Tige, he didn’t take to ’em much.  He kept walkin’ back and forth between me and them, talking as sensible as they did, I must say, and makin’ his meanin’ full as clear.  I dunno how we’d all ‘a’ come out, if I hadn’t brought Jemimy and the twins out and let ’em into the argument.  Them greasers didn’t like the looks of old Jemimy, and they backed off.  Tige, he follered ’em right up, and soon’s they got outa reach of Jemimy, they took down their lariats an’ tried to hitch onto him.

“They didn’t know Tige.  That thar dawg’s the quickest dawg on earth.  He hopped through their loops like they was playin’ jump-the-rope with him.  Fact is, he’d learned jump-the-rope when he was a purp.  He wouldn’t ‘a’ minded that, only they didn’t do it friendly.  One feller whipped out his knife and throwed it at Tige—­and he come mighty nigh makin’ dawg-meat outa him, too.  Slit his ear, it come that close.  Tige ain’t got no likin’ fer greasers sence then.  He thought you was another bunch—­and so did I. Mary, she put inside after Jemimy and the twins.

“Know anything about them greasers?  I see yuh got a sample along.  T’ other crowd was headed by a slim feller all tricked up in velvet and silver braid and red sash; called himself Don Jose Pacheco, and claimed to own all Ameriky from the ocean over there, back to the Allegheny Mountains, near as I could make out.  I don’t talk that kinda talk much; but I been thinkin’ mebby I better get m’ tongue split, so I can.  Might come handy, some time; only Tige, he hates the sound of it like he hates porkypines—­or badgers.

“Mary and me and Tige laid up in Los Angeles fer a spell, resting the cattle.  All greasers, down there—­and fleas—­and take the two t’gether, they jest about wore out the hull kit and b’ilin’ of us.