"Th' best way to get suspected is to hide out when you don't have to," said Johnny. "You wander over to that grass spot across th' road from Dave's an' Dailey's in about an hour, an' lay down to rest yore lazy bones, with yore head toward th' saloon, so nobody can see that yo're talkin' steady. I'll try to get there first. It'll be innocent as sheep. Pepper hankers for live grass--an' she deserves what she hankers for." "She does," responded Two-Spot. "Big Tom was in yesterday talkin' to Dailey. I heard him say somethin' about no supplies. They had an argument an' finally Dailey says: 'All right; if you say so.'" Johnny nodded. "I'll see you around front in about an hour." About the time agreed upon Two-Spot stopped sweeping and looked out of the door. "Things look plumb peaceful, Dave," he said. "There's Nelson lyin' on his back over there in th' sun. He's too comfortable. Got a notion to stir him up." "You stir up that broom an' get through," replied Dave. "You're sweepin' later an' later every mornin'." The sweeper sighed and went to work again, with a vigor so carefully figured that Dave was on the verge of speaking about dust several times, but thought better of it each time. Finishing his chores, Two-Spot shuffled out and threw a can at the recumbent figure over on the grass. It stirred and raised its head. "I'll turn you inside out," it threatened. "You couldn't turn a glove inside out," retorted Two-Spot. Johnny grunted. He was silent for a moment, and then inquired, "What you doin', Feather Head?" "Workin'." "Then you can't do it," regretted Johnny. "What?" "Bring over a couple of cigars." "Show me yore money." Johnny rolled over on his side and produced a coin, which he held up. "Chuck it over," said Two-Spot. "Yo're too busy," jeered Johnny. "Chuck it, an' see." Johnny sat up and sent the coin glittering through the air, Two-Spot making an unexpected catch. He went into the saloon, soon reappeared, and shuffled across the road. Sitting down at Johnny's side with his back to the buildings, he lit his cigar and lazily reclined. "I shore appreciates this rest," he sighed. Johnny laughed outright. "Yo're worked to death," he jibed. "Ol' Simon Verrier," began Two-Spot, "was th' first owner of th' SV. He run it for twenty years, an' there wasn't nobody in all that time done any devilment an' wanted to repeat it. He was testy, big, an' powerful, an' he reckoned th' gun he packed was made to be used. He had Buck Sneed for his best man, an' an outfit what believed th' same as he did about guns. At that time there wasn't no boundaries, not fixed. Th' ranches sort of mingled along th' edges. Then th' Bar H got notions. It sort of honed for that valley, an' made a play or two for it. There wasn't no third. Ol' Simon an' Buck rid down to th' Bar H house an' spoke plain. Failin' to have any lines didn't bother them two. They picked th' ridges of th' dividin' hills an' says: 'Them's th' lines; stay on yore own side.'"