the men stopped dripping, and the fleecies swooped and circled like guUs.
"I've filled up wi' a entrancin' lot o' smell- ers this go, Creash," he said. "Come off of the Pinetop where we bin cultivatin' Califomian thistle, they did."
Creash grinned, turning his sheep over.
"Takes the all of a sewin' needle to git through my hide. Go an' teU Luttrell. He's soft."
But Ted Douglas was telling Luttrell things at that instant. And Danny paused, smelling trouble. For he knew LuttreU's tongue, and he knew that "back-talk" was no tender to the shed boss on Mains.
"When I'm wantin' your biography I'll ask fur it," said Ted, with his hands deep in his coat pockets. "I don't care what you did in Orstralyer. A man who can't shear his two hundred there is a fool. But the man what does more than his one hundred here — on these sheep — ^he's goin' to git fired, an' don't you f orgit it. We ain't over-keen on seein' fancy wool work vmder the Mains brand."
"Crewel work is the belligerent name fur it," suggested Danny; and Scott shouted from the loft:
"Are he wantin' a cork ter his shear p'ints, Ted?"
"Not so much as you're wantin' it in your mouth," returned Ted, sharply.
