Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in.

“Chain that dog up and keep him chained up!  And give Fadeaway his time, right up to the minute!”

Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral, and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him.

Fadeaway rolled a cigarette and strolled over to the bunk-house where he retailed his visit and its climax to a group of interested punchers.

“So he tied the can onto you, eh?  And for settin’ Chance on the sheep?  He ought to be much obliged to you, Fade.  They ain’t room for sheep and cattle both on this here range.  We’re gettin’ backed plumb into the sunset.”

Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken.

“And ole man Loring’s just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex.,” continued the puncher.  “Wonder how Corliss likes that?”

“Don’ know—­and dam’ ’f I care.  If a guy can’t have a little sport without gettin’ fired for it, why, that guy don’t work for the Concho.  The Blue’s good enough for me and I can get a job ridin’ for the Blue any time I want to cinch up.”

“Well, Fade, I reckon you better cinch up pronto, then,” said Shoop who had just entered.  “Here’s your time.  Jack’s some sore, believe me!”

“Sore, eh?  Well, before he gets through with me he’ll be sorer.  You can tell him for me.”

“‘Course I can—­but I ain’t goin’ to.  And I wouldn’t if I was you.  No use showin’ your hand so early in the game.”  And Shoop laughed.

“Well, she’s full—­six aces,” said Fadeaway, touching his holster significantly.

“And Jack throws the fastest gun on the Concho,” said Shoop, his genial smile gone; his face flushed.  “I been your friend, if I do say it, Fade.  But don’t you go away with any little ole idea that I ain’t workin’ for Jack Corliss.”

“What’s that to me?  I’m fired, ain’t I?”

“Correct.  Only I was thinkin’ your cayuse is all in.  You couldn’t get out of sight on him tonight.  But you can take one of my string and send it back when you get ready.”

“Oh, I ain’t sweatin’ to hit the trail,” said Fadeaway, for the benefit of his audience.

“All right, Fade.  But the boss is.  It’s up to you.”

After he had eaten, Fadeaway rolled his few belongings in his slicker and tied it to the saddle.  He was not afraid of Corliss, but like men of his stamp he wanted Corliss to know that he was not alone unafraid, but willing to be aggressive.  He mounted and rode up to the ranch-house.  Corliss, who had seen him approach through the window, sat at his desk, waiting for the cow-boy to dismount and come in.  But Fadeaway sat his horse, determined to make the rancher come outside.

Corliss understood, and pushing back his chair, strode to the doorway.  “Want to see me?” he asked.

Fadeaway noticed that Corliss was unarmed, and he twisted the circumstance to suit a false interpretation of the fact.  “Playin’ safe!” he sneered.