fence tomorrow, fellers," promised the bartender, grinning.
The poker game had been going for some time before further remarks were made about the cowman who had left, and then it was Clayton who spoke.
"Say, Jimmy!" he remarked, as Schultz dealt. "Who is yore leather-pants friend who don't like mutton?"
The bartender lifted a bottle, and replaced it with great care. "Oh, just a ranch foreman, out of a job. He 's a funny old feller."
"So? An' what's so funny about him? Get in there, Towne, if you wants to do any playin' with us."
"Why, he was ordered to build a hundred an' fifty miles of wire fence around his range, an' he jumped ruther than do it."
"Yas—an' most of it government land, I reckon," interposed Towne.
"Pshaw! It's an old game with them," laughed Clayton. "Th' law don't get to them; an'
