it's th' worst; but I guess it's just about a even break."
"I heard about yore friend Waffles through sheep," replied the bartender. "He chased a sheep outfit out of a hill range near his ranch, an' killed a couple of 'em, a-doin' it."
"Served 'em right—served 'em right," responded Youbet, turning and walking toward the door. "They ain't got no business on a cattle range—not nohow."
The man in the corner started to follow, half raising his hand, as though to emphasize something he was about to say; but changed his mind, and sullenly resumed his brooding attitude.
"Reckon I 'll put my cayuse in yore corral, an' look th' town over," Youbet remarked, over his shoulder. "Remember, yo 're savin' a bed for me."
As he stepped to the street, the man in the corner lazily arose and looked out of the window, swearing softly while he watched the man who hated sheep.
