But three days of flirting and sleuthing brought nothing to Dixie's net. From the cook down, the outfit was a solid phalanx against her--they would talk and smile but they never showed their hand. One clue and only one she had--there seemed to be an unusual interest in when she was going to town. First on one pretext and then on another they inquired casually about the date, and if her folks were going along too. So, whatever the deviltry was, it was something that called for secrecy--and it was due on the day they left home. She looked them over as they gathered about the evening fire, and smoothed her hair down thoughtfully--and the next morning she started for town. The sale of his steers was making Henry Lee a lot of trouble--and the holding of them as well. Not being able to find a buyer at his price, he set the cowboys to fence mending--lest the outlaws should breach the wires--and went back and forth to town. And this morning his wife went with him, sitting close behind the grays, with Dixie riding fast behind. Their dust changed to haze on the horizon before any one moved a hand, and then Hardy Atkins turned on Bowles. "All right, Mr. Bowles," he said. "Here's where we see yore hand. I'll saddle that hawse if you'll ride 'im, but don't make me that trouble fer nothin', because if you _do_----" "Oh, shut up!" snapped Bowles, whose nerves were worn to a frazzle. "What's the use of talking about it? Put the saddle on him!" "Holy Jehu!" whistled Atkins. "Listen to the boy talk, will you? Must have somethin' on his mind--what?" "Well, quit yore foolin'!" put in Brigham abruptly. "We'll all git fired fer this, and him liable to git killed to boot, so hurry up and let's have it over with!" "I'll go ye!" laughed the ex-twister, skipping off with a sprightly step. "Come on, boys; it'll take the bunch of us--but I'll saddle old Dunbar or die! 'O-oh, hit's not the 'unting that 'urts the 'orse's 'oofs; hit's the 'ammer, 'ammer, 'ammer on the 'ard 'ighway!' E-e-e--hoo!" He laughed and cut another caper as he ended this bald refrain, and Brigham glowered at him balefully. "'Hit's!'" he quoted. "'_Hit's!_' Listen to the ignorant cracker! I never seen a Texican yet that could talk the straight U. S.! But go on now, you low-flung cotton-pickers, and I'll fix Bowles fer his ridin'!" They hustled away as he spoke, the best of them to wrangle Dunbar, and the rest to admire the sight. Here was an event that would go down in Bat Wing history, and only the cook stayed away. Life had been stale, flat, and unprofitable to Gloomy Gus since he delivered the oration over Happy Jack, and the very care with which all hands refrained from speaking of it showed how poignant the joke had been. Faces which had looked pleasant to him before were repulsive now, and in this last assay on Bowles he saw but a recrudescence of the horse-play which had worked such havoc with his own pride. Therefore, he was morose and sullen and stayed with his pots and pans.