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 back," he said. "I've got thirty besides the cook. That's not a big force to handle a herd of four thousand cattle on the trail, but we've handled 'em, and we expect to go right on handlin' 'em up to Pawnee Bend. You can go on back and tell your folks that."

Hughes spoke kindly, without inflection of sarcasm or hostility. He made a gesture toward his grazing cattle as if to say "there they are; count them for yourself."

"Blamed if I know how to get at it!" said Bill, in genuine perplexity. "I'm not one of that crowd; I owe 'em a grudge I'd travel a thousand miles to pay, but danged if I know how I'm to get at it to convince you I'm straight."

"Maybe the best way to do it would be to tell a straight story," Hughes suggested, his careworn features relieved by a smile.

Bill told him a straight story, leaving nothing to his discredit, or what might set him up for ridicule, out of it, down to the shooting at his new boots and Moore's contemptuous refusal to allow him to go to work. He said nothing about his fight with Kellogg, fearing it might sound like a boast.

"How long have you been in this part of the country?" Hughes inquired.

"I'yve been here—I've been here—why, only three days!" Bill replied, amazed that calculation proved it to be no longer, so much had piled up on him in that time.

Hughes looked at him kindly, appearing to understand and sympathize.