Prince had been in the employ of Webb for three years.  During the long hours when they rode side by side he told his companion much about the Flying V Y outfit and its owner.

“He’s a straight-up man, Homer Webb is.  His word is good all over Texas.  He’ll sure do to take along,” said Billie by way of recommendation.

“And Joe Yankie—­does he stack up A 1 too?” asked the boy dryly.

“I never liked Joe.  It ain’t only that he’ll run a sandy on you if he can or that he’s always ridin’ any one that will stand to be picked on.  Joe’s sure a bully.  But then he’s game enough, too, for that matter.  I’ve seen him fight like a pack of catamounts.  Outside of that I’ve got a hunch that he’s crooked as a dog’s hind leg.  Mebbe I’m wrong, I’m tellin’ you how he strikes me.  If I was Homer Webb, right now when trouble is comin’ up with the Snaith-McRobert outfit, I’d feel some dubious about Joe.  He’s a sulky, revengeful brute, an’ the old man has pulled him up with a tight rein more’n once.”

“What do you mean—­trouble with the Snaith-McRobert outfit?”

“That’s a long story.  The bad feelin’ started soon after the war when Snaith an’ the old man were brandin’ mavericks.  It kind of smouldered along for a while, then broke out again when both of them began to bid on Government beef contracts.  There’s been some shootin’ back an’ forth an’ there’s liable to be a whole lot more.  The Lazy S M—­that’s the Snaith-McRobert brand—­claims the whole Pecos country by priority.  The old man ain’t recognizin’ any such fool title.  He’s got more ’n thirty thousand head of cattle there an’ he’ll fight for the grass if he has to.  O’ course there’s plenty of room for everybody if it wasn’t for the beef contracts an’ the general bad feelin’.”

“Don’t you reckon it will be settled peaceably?  They’ll get together an’ talk it over like reasonable folks.”

Billie shook his head.  “The Lazy S M are bringin’ in a lot of bad men from Texas an’ the Strip.  Some of our boys ain’t exactly gun-shy either.  One of these days there’s sure goin’ to be sudden trouble.”

“I’m no gunman,” protested Clanton indignantly.  “I hired out to the old man to punch cows.  Whyfor should I take any chances with the Snaith-McRobert outfit when I ain’t got a thing in the world against them?”

“No, you’re no gunman,” grinned his friend in amiable derision.  “Jimmie-Go-Get-’Em is a quiet little Sunday-go-to-meetin’ kid.  It was kinder by accident that he bumped off four Apaches an’ a halfbreed the other day.”

“Now don’t you blame me for that, Billie.  You was hell-bent on goin’ into the Roubideau place an’ I trailed along.  When you got yore pill in the laig you made me ride up the gulch alone.  I claim I wasn’t to blame for them Mescaleros.  I wasn’t either.”