He was ready to pick a quarrel with the first
man who asked him a question about what had taken place at the pass.

Nobody asked a question. Men looked at him, read the menace of his
sullen, angry face, and side-stepped his rage. They did not need to be
told that his ride had been a failure. His manner advertised it. Whatever
had taken place had not redounded to the glory of Dug Doble.

Later in the day the foreman met the owner of the D Bar Lazy R brand
to make a detailed statement of the cost of the drive. He took peculiar
pleasure in mentioning one item.

"That young scalawag Sanders beat you outa eighteen dollars," he said
with a sneer of triumph.

Doble had heard the story of what Dave and Bob had done for Crawford and
of how the wounded boy had been taken to the cattleman's home and nursed
there. It pleased him now to score off what he chose to think was the
soft-headedness of his chief.

The cattleman showed interest. "That so, Dug? Sorry. I took a fancy to
that boy. What did he do?"

"You know how vaqueros are always comin' in and chargin' goods against
the boss. I give out the word they was to quit it. Sanders he gets a pair
of eighteen-dollar boots, then jumps the town before I find out about
it."

Crawford started to speak, but Doble finished his story.

"I took out after him, but my bronc went lame from a stone in its hoof.
You'll never see that eighteen plunks, Em. It don't do to pet cowhands."

"Too bad you took all that trouble, Dug," the old cattleman began mildly.
"The fact is--"

"Trouble. Say, I'd ride to Tombstone to get a crack at that young smart
Aleck. I told him what I'd do to him if I ever got my fists on him."

"So you _did_ catch up with him."

Dug drew back sulkily within himself. He did not intend to tell all he
knew about the Gunsight Pass episode. "I didn't say _when_ I told him."

"Tha's so. You didn't. Well, I'm right sorry you took so blamed much
trouble to find him. Funny, though, he didn't tell you I gave him the
boots."

"You--what?" The foreman snapped the question out with angry incredulity.

The ranchman took the cigar from his mouth and leaned back easily. He was
smiling now frankly.

"Why, yes. I told him to buy the boots and have 'em charged to my
account. And the blamed little rooster never told you, eh?"

Doble choked for words with which to express himself. He glared at his
employer as though Crawford had actually insulted him.

In an easy, conversation