“No, sir!” said Laramie. “I don’t go as any stock-tender, Tex. I go civilized. I know I’ve fell by the way, on several occasions, Tex, but this time will be different. There don’t nary man call me a brute ag’in. I quit the range, and I live white. When I get to Kansas City, I’m goin’ to the swellest cafe in that town, and I order me the best feed on the hull mee-noo, regardless. I been livin’ so long on beef, I moo whenever I see a calf. I reckon I’ll put up at the best _ho_-tel, and I’ll take in the best thee-ater, and I’ll buy some store clothes. Wow! Hey?” And Laramie fairly licked his chops. “Shorely,” agreed Tex in tone caustic. “I see yuh. Easy come, easy go. You fellows are alluz fools with your money. All right; what’ll you do then?” “Well,” said Laramie, “lackin’ better while I was lookin’ round, I suppose I might get a job at the stockyards. I know cattle. But that wont be ridin’. It’ll be loafin’. Now,” he concluded, “you understand why I figger ahead on what’s comin’ to me. How much?” “Very good,” Tex rapped. “Seeing you’re bound to know, I’ll give it to you straight. Close as I can calkilate, Laramie, at the pens you’ll have exactly thirty-three dollars and fifty cents due you. Want, cash or a gold bond?” “What you sayin’, Tex?” Laramie gasped. “I got more than that!” “No, you haven’t. You remember, Laramie, that last time you turned loose, after the calf round-up, you lost all your money, and your saddle, and bridle, and boots, and your four-gallon Texas hat, in a tin-horn poker-game. So I had to stake you to a new outfit. Those things cost. And you’ve been drawing a dollar or two, now and again, since. I can show you in black and white.” “You needn’t, Tex. Yore word’s good.” But thirty-three dollars and fifty cents, after thirty years of dogging cows from the border to Montana! Shucks! Laramie rallied. He had faced worse crises. “I’ll take it, anyhow,” he said cheerfully. “I aint clean busted.” “No,” said Tex. And he added with significant disapproval: “Not yet! But if you come back with your fifty cents, you’ll be doing well.” * * * * * So Laramie Red was quitting! Considerable more remained to be said upon the subject, chiefly among his mates. And the chantey welled with drawl of chorus his-way directed: After the round-up’s over, After the shipping’s done, I’m going ho-ome, boys, Never more to roam. Capped by the remindful-- Gimme a platter o’ Lillian Russell,* Gimme a look at a skirt and a bustle, Then take my money and watch me hustle Back to the sage and sun! [* Peaches and cream, of course!] “Laramie wont get past the first stop with a ‘Last Chance’ sign over a door,” they laughed. “What’ll you bet, Laramie?”