“Yes. I’m owner of these cattle and these horses. I’m full owner of the Seventy-seven. Understand? I employ cowboys, not busters. I’ll have nobody in my service who abuses animals. They tell me this horse is perfectly gentle when he’s been handled properly. I can see that for myself. You’re ruining him. No doubt you meant to show off a little, but that doesn’t go with me. Give your time to the foreman, and he’ll pay you to date. If you intend to be a cowboy, I hope this will be a lesson to you. Br-rumph! No words, now.” The oracular dignitary had finished. But Laramie could muster no words of utterance before ladies. There they were, those two, standing aloof and eying him with look that scorched. And--“If you intend to be a cowboy,” the stout gent had said. “If you _intend_ to be a _cowboy_!” Suffering cats! He, Laramie Red, intend “to be” a cowboy! And--“They tell me this horse is perfectly gentle when he’s been handled properly!” So he was. The deviltry having been ridden out of him, he’d be as meek as Moses; as witness now--a staid old fool! Fired! That verbal mandate waited upon no further repetition. Laramie swung from the astonished Thunder and commenced rapidly to unsaddle. Tex, who had been busied elsewhere, came hurrying with gait interrogative. “What’s the matter, Laramie?” “There’s nothin’ the matter with me. I’m turnin’ in this hawss,” growled Laramie, engaged. “What’s wrong with the hawss, then?” “Nothin’. He’s plump gentle--a putty little hawss. But I’m quittin’.” “You! No! Why’s that?” “Been fired, aint I? No man need tell me that more’n once.” “Who told you?” “Yore big boss over yonder.” Laramie indicated with jerk of red head. “What for?” * * * * * Laramie smiled sourly through the perspiration of his rugged countenance. By that twist of the lips he revealed the injury done to his very soul. “’Cause I abuse his pet stock. Got to learn how to handle hawsses, yet.” “Hold on! You say he fired you?” “He shorely did. I’m quittin’. Here’s his hawss. You got my time?” “No!” Tex implored. “Wait! Why, doggone his skin--” He wheeled about, but the “big boss” was valiantly coming as if to impress the stamp of authority. And the lingering riders grinned. “This man says you’ve discharged him, Mr. Bunyan,” Tex accused. “So I have. On the spot, too. Look at that horse. The man’s a brute.” “Easy, now, Mister,” Laramie warned, a glint in his hazel eyes. “Shore, I see the hawss. There’s nothing wrong with the hawss,” Tex would placate, somewhat bewildered. “And I’ll say the man you’re speaking of is a top hand--there’s not a better man in the outfit. You can’t fire _him_.”