Rowdy of the "Cross L"
"W-what?" Pink stopped short and eyed him critically. Eagle Creek could not justly be called a teetotaler; but Pink had never known him to get worse than a bit wobbly in his legs; his mind had never fogged perceptibly. Still, something was wrong with him, that was certain. Pink glanced dubiously across at the Silent One and saw him shrug his shoulders expressively.
Eagle Creek rode up and stopped within ten feet of the line-backed cow; she seemed hurt at being held up in this manner, Pink thought.
"Yuh'll have t' turn this herd back," Eagle Creek announced bluntly.
"Where to?" Pink asked, too stunned to take in the meaning of it.
"T' hell, I guess. It's the only place I know of where everybody's welcome." Eagle Creek's tone was not pleasant.
"We just came from there," Pink said simply, thinking of the horrors of that drive.
"Where's Wooden Shoes?" snapped the old man; and the foreman's hat-crown appeared at that instant over the ridge.
"Well, we're up against it," Eagle Creek greeted. "That damn' agent—or the fellow he had workin'
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