"That so?" queried Baxter slowly. "I reckon he better keep his mouth shut, then."
"Oh, he 's all right! He 's a jolly old geezer," assured the bartender. "He just talks to hear hisself—one of them old-timers what can't get right to th' way things has changed on th' range. It was them boys that did great work when th' range was wild."
"Yes, an' it 's them bull-headed old fools what are raisin' all th' hell with th' sheep," retorted Towne, frowning darkly as he remembered some of the indignities he had borne at the hands of cowmen.
"I wish his name was Waffles." Clayton smiled significantly.
"Rainin' again," remarked a man in the doorway, stamping in. "Reckon it ain't never goin' to stop."
"Where you been so long, Price?" asked Clayton, as a salutation.
"Oh, just shiftin' about. That cow wrastler raised th' devil in th' hotel," Price replied. "Old fool! They brought him mutton, an' he wanted
