"Yes—a little. Goin' down to th' Bar-20 for a job punchin'. I hear Peters has got more cows than he can handle. Know anybody down there you wants to send any word to?"
"I 'll be hanged if I know," laughed the bartender. "I know a lot of fellers, but they shift so I can't keep track of 'em, nohow."
A man in a far corner pushed back his chair, and approached the bar, scowling as he glanced at Youbet. "Gimme another," he ordered.
"Why, hullo, stranger!" exclaimed Youbet. "I did n't see you before. Have one with me."
The other looked him squarely in the eyes. "Ex-cuse me, stranger—I 'm a sheepman, an' I don't drink with cowmen."
"Well, ex-cuse me!" retorted Youbet, like a flash. "If I 'd 'a' knowed you was a sheepman, I wouldn't 'a' asked you!"
The sheepman drank his liquor and, returning to his corner, placed his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, apparently paying no further attention to the others.
"If I can't get a job with Peters, I can try th'
