He left the cursing deputy and went straight for the trail, where the rising wind played with the dust, and along it until stopped by a voice in a barranca.
"Im puttin' 'em up," he called. "My name's Nelson an' I'm mad clean through. Get a rustle on; I want to see Mac."
"Go ahead, Bar-20," drawled the voice. "I wasn't dead shore. There's a good friend of yourn down there."
"Quayle?" asked Johnny.
"There's another: Waffles, of th' O-Bar-O," came the reply, and a verse of a nearly forgotten song arose on the breeze.
I've swum th' Colorado where she runs down clost to hell,
I've braced th' faro layouts in Cheyenne;
I've fought for muddy water with a howlin' bunch of Sioux,
An' swallered hot tamales, an' cayenne.
"There's more, but I've done forgot most of it," apologized the singer.
Johnny laughed with delight. "Why, that's Lefty Allen's old song. Here's th' second verse:"
I've rid a pitchin' broncho till th' sky was underneath,
I've tackled every desert in th' land;
I've sampled Four-X whisky till I couldn't hardly see,
An' dallied with th' quicksands of th' Grande.
"That's shore O-Bar-O. Lefty made it up hisself, an' that boy could sing it. It all comes back to me now—
