Laramie rode on, for a distance, alone. Thud of hoofs sounded. Happy Jack drew in to pace him and be his partner for the afternoon’s last circle. “Say, Laramie, you aren’t goin’ to quit, are you?” Happy blurted. “Sure not. Everybody knows you’re all right.” “You bet I quit.” “But you aint fired. Tex does the firing in this outfit, and you can stay till your feet drop off.” “Then I fire myself. ‘Brute’ and ‘ladies’ man,’ am I? I know when I got enough, and I’m plump sick o’ ridin’. There’s no thanks to it. There’s nothin’ to show but saddle-corns and rheumatics and a bad reputation. What’s a puncher, outside o’ story papers? Yep, I’ve made up my mind. I’ll quit at the shippin’-pens, when I aint needed. I aim to sell my saddle and straighten out my legs, and never ride no more. Mebbe I can live on my income,” he dourly added. “Aw, Laramie!” “I’ve said it. If you’re goin’ to talk, you can talk about the weather.” * * * * * This evening the 77 camped by themselves, for the outland guests had left. After supper Laramie waddled over to sit beside Tex and put an important question. “How much’ll I have comin’ to me, Tex, when you pay off?” “Where?” “At the shippin’-pens. We draw our money when we strike town at the end of the drive, don’t we?” “Shorely. You needn’t worry about that. You’ll get your share, unless you want me to hold back.” “Nope: no holding back this time,” said Laramie. “How much’ll it be, Tex? You can figger, can’t you? I aint kept track.” “What do you want to know for?” Tex demanded. “Can’t you wait? There’s no way to spend it here. You’ll spend it fast enough when you do get it. Why don’t you let it grow?” “Well,” said Laramie, “I’m curious. It’s mine, aint it? Then I get it, don’t I? How much?” “But what’ll you do with it? Throw it away?” Tex reproved. “Five dollars will give you a good time in that shipping burg; the rest wont harm you if I keep it for you.” “I don’t stop in that burg,” announced Laramie. “I told you I’m quittin’. I’ll need all my money.” Tex deplored: “Oh, pshaw, Laramie! I was hoping you’d got that out of your system. The old man’s gone. ’Twasn’t only a flash in the pan. I mean for you to stay on. Blamed if I’ll let you leave the Seventy-seven.” “Can’t help yoreself, Tex,” said Laramie. “I been thinkin’ of quittin’, two-three weeks now, and I do quit, soon as we reach the pens. You’ll have men enough there.” “Going to join another outfit?” “Nope. When I quit, I quit ridin’, and I pull out.” “Why--what do you aim to do? You’re talking foolish!” Tex censured. “Me?” said Laramie. “Well, I reckon I’ll go to little old K. C. I aint been in a city since--gosh, I don’t know when, Tex. It’s time I was learnin’ something.” “You might have gone,” Tex snapped. “You’ve been started--I’ve started you, myself; but ’fore you got to the train, where were you? Plumb flat. But all right: I’ll send you in with the stock. Give you another chance.”