Rowdy of the "Cross L"
his tobacco-sack, and asked questions about the Cypress Hills country. How was this girl?—and was that one married yet?—and did the other still grieve for him? As a matter of fact, he had yet to see the girl who could quicken his pulse a single beat, and for that reason it sometimes pleased him to affect susceptibility beyond that of other men.
It was after dinner when he and Rowdy went chumming down to the stables, gossiping like a couple of old women over a back fence.
"I see you've got Conroy's Chub yet," Pink observed carelessly.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake let up on that cayuse!" Rowdy cried petulantly. "I wish I'd never got sight uh the little buzzard-head; I've had him crammed down my throat the last day or two till it's getting plumb monotonous. Pink, that cayuse never saw Oregon. He was raised right on this flat, and he belongs to old Rodway; I've got to lead him back there and turn him over to-day."
Pink took three puffs at his cigarette, and lifted his long lashes to Rowdy's gloom-filled face. "Stole?" he asked briefly.
"Stole," Rowdy repeated disgustedly. "So was the whole blame' bunch, as near as I can make out."
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