"It looks like a plumb imposition, cavallos," says I to them,
"after an all-day, but you sure don't want to join that outfit
any more than I do the angels, and if we camp here we're likely
to do both."
I didn't see them any more after that until I'd hit the Lazy Y,
and had started in runnin' cattle in the Soda Springs Valley.
Larry Eagen and I rode together those days, and that's how I got
to know him pretty well. One day, over in the Elm Flat, we ran
smack on this Texas outfit again, headed north. This time I was
on my own range, and I knew where I stood, so I could show a
little more curiosity in the case.
"Well, you got this far," says I.
"Yes," says they.
"Where you headed?"
"Over towards the hills."
"What to do?"
"Make a ranch, raise some truck; perhaps buy a few cows."
They went on.
"Truck" says I to Larry, "is fine prospects in this country."
He sat on his horse looking after them.
"I'm sorry for them" says he. "It must he almighty hard
scratchin'."
Well, we rode the range for upwards of two year. In that time we
saw our Texas friends--name of Hahn--two or three times in
Willets, and heard of them off and on. They bought an old brand
of Steve McWilliams for seventy-five dollars, carryin' six or
eight head of cows.
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