"Well, I'll soon be in the oyster parlor up to the bellyband," he said, full of the cheer of his prospect. "Nettie's got the place picked out and nailed down--I sent her the money to pay the rent. I'll be handin' out stews with a slice of pickle on the side of the dish before another week goes by, Duke." "What are you goin' to make oysters out of in Wyoming?" the Duke inquired wonderingly. "Make 'em out of? Oysters, of course. What do you reckon?" "There never was an oyster within a thousand miles of Wyoming, Taterleg. They wouldn't keep to ship that far, much less till you'd used 'em up." "Cove oysters, Duke, cove oysters," corrected Taterleg gently. "You couldn't hire a cowman to eat any other kind, you couldn't put one of them slick fresh fellers down him with a pair of tongs." "Well, I guess you know, old feller." Taterleg fell into a reverie, from which he started presently with a vehement exclamation of profanity. "If she's got bangs, I'll make her cut 'em off!" he said. "Who cut 'em off?" Lambert asked, viewing this outburst of feeling in surprise. "Nettie! I don't want no bangs around me to remind me of that snipe-legged Alta Wood. Bangs may be all right for fellers with music boxes in their watches, but they don't go with me no more." "I didn't see Jedlick around the ranch up there; what do you suppose become of him?" "Well, from what the boys told me, if he's still a-goin' like he was when they seen him last, he must be up around Medicine Hat by now." "It was a sin the way you threw a scare into that man, Taterleg." "I'm sorry I didn't lay him out on a board, dern him!" "Yes, but you might as well let him have Alta." "He can come back and take her any time he wants her, Duke." The Duke seemed to reflect this simple exposition of Jedlick's present case. "Yes, I guess that's so," he said. For a mile or more there was no sound but the even swing of their horses' hoofs as they beat in the long, easy gallop which they could hold for a day without a break. Then Lambert: "Plannin' to leave tonight, are you Taterleg?" "All set for leavin', Duke." On again, the frost-powdered grass brittle under the horses' feet. "I think I'll pull out tonight, too." "Why, I thought you was goin' to stay till Vesta left, Duke?" "Changed my mind." "Don't you reckon Vesta she'll be a little put out if you leave the ranch after she'd figgered on you to stay and pick up and gain and be stout and hearty to go in the sheep business next spring?" "I hope not." "Yeh, but I bet she will. Do you reckon she'll ever come back to the ranch any more when she goes away?" "What?" said Lambert, starting as if he had been asleep. "Vesta; do you reckon she'll ever come back any more?" "Well," slowly, thoughtfully, "there's no tellin', Taterleg." "She's got a stockin' full of money now, and nobody dependin' on her. She's just as likely as not to marry some lawyer or some other shark that's after her dough." "Yes, she may."