Then Phil, after a moment's talk with Jim Reid, rode up to
Nick Cambert, who was sitting on his horse a little apart from the group
of intensely interested cowboys. The Cross-Triangle foreman's tone was
curt. "I reckon I'll have to trouble you to vent your brand on that
Cross-Triangle calf, Nick."
The Tailholt Mountain man made no shallow pretense that he did not
understand. "Not by a damn sight," he returned roughly. "I ain't raisin'
calves for Bill Baldwin, an' I happen to know what I'm talkin' about
this trip. That's a Four-Bar-M calf, an' I branded him myself over in
Horse Wash before he left the cow. Some of your punchers are too damned
handy with their runnin' irons, Mr. Wild Horse Phil."
For a moment Phil looked at the man, while Jim Reid moved his horse
nearer, and the cowboys waited, breathlessly. Then, without taking his
eyes from the Tailholt Mountain man's face, Phil called sharply:
"Patches, come here!"
There was a sudden movement among the riders, and a subdued murmur, as
Patches rode forward.
"Is that calf you told me about in the corral, Patches?" asked Phil,
when the man was beside him.
"Yes, sir; that's him over there by that brindle cow.
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