“We can’t leave ’em thataway.  Dad gum it, we got to stand by the boys, Joe.  That’s what Webb would tell us if he was here.”

“But he ain’t here, Dad.  An’ while he’s gone I’m major-domo of this outfit.  We’re headed north, not south.”

“You may be.  I’m not.  An’ I reckon you’ll find several of the boys got the same notion I have.  I taken a fancy to both those young fellows, an’ if I hadn’t I’d go help ’em just the same.”

“You ain’t expectin’ to ride our stock on this fool chase, are you?”

“I’ll ride the first good bronc I get my knees clamped to, Joe.”

“As regards that, you’ll get my answer like shot off’n a shovel.  None of the Flyin’ V Y remuda is goin’.”

Wrayburn cantered around the point of the herd to the swing, from the swing back to the drag, and then forward to the left point.  In the circuit he had stopped to sound out each rider.

“We all have decided that ten of us will go back, Joe,” he announced serenely.  “That leaves enough to loose-herd the beeves whilst we’re away.”

Yankie grew purple with rage.  “If you go you’ll walk.  I’ll show you who’s foreman here.”

“No use raisin’ a rookus, Joe,” replied the old Confederate mildly.  “We’re goin’.  Yore authority doesn’t stretch far enough to hold us here.”

“I’ll show you!” stormed the foreman.  “Some of you will go to sleep in smoke if you try to take any of my remuda.”

“Now don’t you-all be onreasonable, Joe.  We got to go.  Cayn’t you get it through yore cocoanut that we’ve got to stand by our pardners?”

“That killer Clanton is no pardner of mine.  I meant to burn powder with him one of these days myself.  If Wally Snaith beats me to it I’m not goin’ to wear black,” retorted Yankie.

“Sho!  The kid’s got good stuff in him.  An’ nobody could ask for a squarer pal than Billie Prince.  You know that yore own self.”

“You heard what I said, Dad.  The Flyin’ V Y horses don’t take the back trail to-day,” insisted the foreman stubbornly.

The wrinkled eyes of Wrayburn narrowed a little.  He looked straight at Yankie.

“Don’t get biggety, Joe.  I’m not askin’ you or any other man whether I can ride to rescue a friend when he’s in trouble.  You don’t own these broncs, an’ if you did we’d take ’em just the same.”

The voice of Wrayburn was still gentle, but it no longer pleaded for understanding.  The words were clean-cut and crisp.

“I’ll show you!” flung back the foreman with an oath.

When the little group of cavalry was gathered for the start, Yankie, rifle in hand, barred the way.  His face was ugly with the fury of his anger.

Dad Wrayburn rode forward in front of his party.  “Don’t git promiscuous with that cannon of yours, Joe.  You’ve done yore level best to keep us here.  But we’re goin’ just the same.  We-all will tell the old man how tender you was of his remuda stock.  That will let you out.”