They were sitting with backs against the logs of the cabin wall, outside the door, facing the road, when Fred delivered this opinion in finance. In a row the three of them sat, legs stretched out before them, as if they had been stood against the wall earlier in the day and shot, and had collapsed in that position. They were taking no chance on surprise; each man had his gun on him, and Fred Grubb was further fortified by his shotgun, which lay along his leg.
Dan twisted his head in profound expression of assent to his partner's opinion of the Diamond Tail affairs. His hat was on the ground beside him, his fair hair, freshly barbered by the versatile poet, was combed down in a cow-lick over his left eye in the approved cowpuncher style.
"Them two fellers they're ridin? Hal Nearing like a witch horse," Fred declared, "break-neck for the jumpin' off place. Yes, and they'll come to it before long, the way it looks to a man up a tree."
"I believe you're right, Fred," Barrett agreed. "That lawyer and Findlay are hanging around the ranch like a couple of buzzards."
"Nearing's gambled the money off, my opinion, and they've got him in a hole," said Dan. "Wall Street; that's what hits these cattle barons between the eyes."
"Something's hit him between the eyes, he's got the blind staggers worse than any man I ever saw," Barrett said. "He's put on twenty years since you brought me out to the ranch, Dan."
"They're honin' him away, them two; there won't be nothing left of him but the handle in a month, and
