Healy’s eyes narrowed.  He gazed at the boy darkly, as if he meant to read him through and through.  For years he had dominated Phil, had shaped him to his ends, had led him into wild, lawless courses after him.  Now the anchors were dragging.  He was losing control of him.  He resolved to turn the screws on him, but not at this time and place.

“I’ve always been considered a full-grown man, Phil.  What I think I aim to say out loud when the notion hits me.  That being so, I go on record as having an opinion about Keller.  You think he’s on the square, and you give him a whitewashed certificate as a bony-fidy Sunday-school scholar.

“Different here.  I think him a coyote and a crook, and so I say it right out in meeting.  Any objections?” The gaze of the boss shifted from Sanderson to Yeager, and fastened.

“None in the world.  You think what you like, Brill, and we’ll stick to our opinions,” Yeager replied cheerfully.

“And when I get good and ready I’ll act on mine,” Healy replied with an evil grin.

“If you find it right convenient.  I expect Keller ain’t exactly a wooden cigar Indian.  Maybe he’ll have a say-so in what’s doing,” suggested Yeager.

“About as much as he had last time,” sneered the round-up boss.  With which he rose, stretched himself, and gave orders.  “Time to turn in, boys.  We’re combing Old Baldy to-morrow, remember.”

“And Old Baldy’s sure a holy terror,” admitted Slim.

“Come three more days and we’d ought to be through.  I’m not going to grieve any when we are.  This high life don’t suit me too durned well,” put in Benwell.

“Yet when you come here first you was a right sick man, Tom.  Now, you’re some healthy.  Don’t that prove the outside of a hawss is good for the inside of a man, like the docs say?” grinned Purdy.

“Tom’s notion of real living is sassiety with a capital S,” explained Cuffs.  “You watch him cut ice at the Frying Pan dance next week.  He’ll be the real-thing lady-killer.  All you lads going, I reckon.  How about you, Jim?”

Yeager said he expected to be there.

“With yore friend the rustler?” asked Healy insolently over his shoulder.

“I haven’t got any friend that’s a rustler.”

“I’m speaking of Mr. Larrabie Keller.”  There was a slurring inflection on the prefix.

“He’ll be there, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“I’d wonder a heap,” retorted Healy.  “You’ll see he won’t show his face there.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Brill.  He told me he was going,” spoke up Phil triumphantly.

“We’ll see.  He’s wise to the fact that this country knows him for an out-and-out crook.  He’ll stay in his hole.”

“You going, Slim?” asked Purdy amiably, to turn the conversation into a more pacific channel.

“Sure,” answered that young giant, getting lazily to his feet.  “Well, sons, the boss is right.  Time to pound our ears.”