He spoke without heat, but with much finality. Fenno grunted as usual and pushed back his chair from the table. Royce continued, getting to his feet: “I’m the only man who ever was able to get on with you, Joel. I’ve stood your grouches and your crankiness; because I figured those grouches hurt you a lot more than they could hurt me. And I’ve always tried to dodge any squabbles with you. I’m still going to try to. So I guess you’d better think over what you’ve just said about our getting rid of Treve. If Treve gets out, I get out. Not that I’m fool enough to value a dog more than I value a man; but because when one partner begins handing out ultimatums, it’s time for the other to quit. The ultimatum habit is a rotten one. If I gave in to the first ultimatum, there’d be more and more of ’em; till some day there’d come one that I’d have to fight over. So, the first ultimatum is going to be the last one. That’s why I’m asking you to think it over and take it back. See you at supper time. So long.” Still holding in his temper, he left the shack; Joel Fenno staring after him in baleful speechlessness. As Mack came out into the dooryard, Treve was off the ground in one leap; and cantering up to him; eagerly expectant of accompanying his god whithersoever Royce might be going. But Mack checked him. “No, old boy,” he whispered, stooping to pat the classic head. “Not this morning. He’s riled. No sense in riling him worse, by us starting off to work, together. He’d figure we were going to waste half the day in chasing jackrabbits and learning tricks. Stay here. He’s going down to the South Quarter this morning. He said so yesterday. He said, then, he’d need you to help Rastus drive that South Quarter bunch over to the Bottoms. I’ve got to pack the big truck across to Santa Carlotta for the freight we found there yesterday. It’d be good fun for both of us, to have you ride on the front seat with me, Treve, son. But--well, just now, he’d likely throw a fit if you took the morning off.... Lie down there and wait for him.” The dog obeyed. But he did so with none of his wonted gay alacrity. Naturally, he understood not a tithe of Royce’s harangue. But he caught some of its drift, from the tone and from a scattered word or so that was within his experience. Like so many lonely men, Mack had fallen into the habit of talking to this collie chum of his, during their long rides or hikes, as if to a human. The dog, in true collie fashion, had learned to read both voice and face; and to pick up the meaning of certain familiar words. For example, he understood perfectly, now, that he must not accompany his god as usual, but must lie down and wait for his other owner’s commands. This was ill news to the dog. His deepset dark eyes were full of wistful appeal, as he stretched himself reluctantly in the sand again and stared after the departing Royce.