“Mister, you talk like them cows was sugar or coffee. I never did hear of ary man selling a cow that way. No man can tell how much a cow weighs by looking at him, and I never did see one weighed. Of course, I could make a scales by swinging a pole and putting a few men at the other end of it to balance up a cow—you can guess how much a man weighs pretty clost. But all that’d take too much time. No, a cow is a cow where I come from, whether he’s big or little.” “Well, what d’you say to eleven dollars a head?” “I don’t say nothing. These here cows is family pets, and we don’t like fer to part with them. But like enough this is the only herd that ever will come up from Texas, anyhow this year.” “You wouldn’t say twelve dollars?” “Straight count, a cow for a cow, as she tallies out?” “Well, I’d sorter like to see the herd first.” “It ain’t no trade,” said Nabours calmly. “If I’d sell them family favorites of ours the owner of Del Sol would feel sore—she shore would.” “You say ’she’ would. Are you working for a widow?” “She ain’t a widow yet, but she may be a’fore long.” “Married?” “The same answer. Not yet, but right apt to be.” “How old is she?” “Why, I don’t know. Plenty of cows we got in that herd is a heap older than she is.” “And you’re taking a girl through to Abilene!” “What’s wrong with Aberlene, friend?” “Well,” admitted McCoyne, “we got eight saloons and five gambling palaces now; a good many railroad men and skin hunters and people like that hang around. It might be a little bit swift if you ain’t used to traveling fast.” “What you say sounds cheerful. We’d like to wet the dust in our throats and play a few cards in a innocent way.” “I wouldn’t say that Abilene ain’t safe,” argued the market man. “We got the best town marshal in Kansas, or are going to have if we can get him away from Hays City. Wild Bill Hickok is his name. He’s the best shot in Kansas.” “He may be in Kansas, but he ain’t in Texas,” replied Nabours. “We had him along ourselves. You didn’t happen to meet up with a man named Dan McMasters in Caldwell, did you?” McCoyne drew himself up. “I don’t go to Caldwell. But since you mention it, that name sounds familiar. I met a McMasters over in the Baxter Springs country last winter; tall fellow, with a little mustache. He was the man that told me he was going to send up a Texas herd when he got back home.” “He done so,” replied Nabours. “Here it is.” “He certainly done us both a good turn. I was saying McCoyne—Joe McCoyne’s my name. I come from Indianny. I’m president of the stockyards up to Abilene. The whole Eastern country is out here hunting cattle. There’s a thousand miles of range north and west of us that’s got to have cattle. Why, cattle will be gobbled up as fast as you can drive them in.”