The Man from Bar-20
"He won't miss me much," responded Johnny, comfortably seating himself in Pop's private chair. "I ain't leavin' th' country."
"You won't have to. There's other ranches, where they treats punchers better'n cows. There's another chair, over there."
"No more ranches for me," replied Johnny, ignoring the hint. "I'm through punching I tell you. I'm goin' to play a while for a change."
"Gamblin's bad business," replied Pop, turning to get the cards.
"Mebby some gamblin' is; but there's some as ain't," grinned Johnny. "I ain't meanin' cards."
"Oh," said Pop, disappointed. "What you mean—shootin' craps?"
"Nope; I'm goin' prospectin'; an' if that ain't gamblin' then I never saw anythin' that was."
Pop straightened up and stared. "Prospectin?" he demanded, incredulously. "Regular prospectin'? Well, I'll be cussed! If yo're goin' to do it around here, lemme tell you it won't be no gamble. It'll be a dead shore loss. A flea couldn't live on what you'll earn on that game in this country."
"Well, I ain't aimin' to support no flea, unless Andy leaves me one," laughed Johnny, again scratching the restless bird. "But I'm tired of cows, an' I might as well amuse myself prospectin' as any other way. I like
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