"’If a body meets a body, comin’ through th’ rye,’" quavered a voice from the corral and a voice in the darkness profaned the song: "Ever meet yoreself goin’ t’other way, after surroundin’ th’ rye?" "Never had that pleasure after you ’d been at th’ booze." Chesty Sutton entered the bunk-house and stared at Bow-Wow. "What’s eatin’ you?" he demanded, curiously. "I dunno; I ’ve been itchin’ ever since Murray told us. Wonder if I ’ve got it?" Chesty considered: "Well, now I remember that chickens, cats, and dogs don’t get cattle itch. You ain’t got it, Bow-Wow. It ’s yore imagination that’s got it. But if you ’re bound to scratch, do it somewhere else—you make me nervous, keepin’ on one spot so long. Wait till I asks th’ boys about it." "Stop!" snapped Bow-Wow, his hand on a bottle of harness oil: "You never mind about askin’ anybody! I ’ll take yore word for it—remember, I ’ll bust yore gizzard if you gets that pack o’ coyotes barkin’ at my heels!" "Holy Smoke! We ’ll have our hands full a while," growled Chesty, dropping onto a box. "Let any o’ this crowd ketch anybody throwin’ mangy cows over on us! An’ right after it comes th’ Spring combin’—this is shore a weary world." "Jake ’s got to dig some ditches," remarked the foreman, entering the house, and immediately the misery of future hours was forgotten in the merriment and satisfaction found in this news. Jake would have a lot of advisers. In the ranch house Whitby was laughing gently and finally he voiced a wish: "I say, Peters, what a wealth of character there is out here. I wish Johnnie Beauchamp were here—what a rattling good play he could make. You know, Johnnie’s last play was almost a success—and I ’m very much interested in him. I backed him to the tune of two thousand pounds." Invited to spend the night in the ranch house, Whitby accepted with alacrity. In carrying out McAllister’s wishes he could not be too near headquarters, he concluded; but added to this, he entertained a sincere admiration for Buck Peters which increased as the days went by. Some few minutes after the lights were out, Buck was brought back from the shadowy realm of sleep by Whitby’s voice coming from the other room. "I say, Peters, did you keep those calculations?" "Yes," answered Buck. "Why?" "There ’s the lumber, you know. It might be a good idea to have McAllister send it on." "Shore would. You tell him." "I will," promised Whitby. A few seconds later he broke out again: "Do you know, Buck, the railroad companies of America are cheerful beggars. They take your luggage and then play ducks and drakes with it, in a very idiotic way. Why, mine was lost for two weeks and I was in a very devil of a fix. So it would not be a bad idea, you know, if I tell your partner to send a man with the consignment. He can sit on the barrels and see that they are n’t placed on a siding to prove the theory that loss of movement results in inertia. Am I right?"