“Where did you find that stolen money, young man?”
“You might ask them,” says I, pointing at them four bad men.
“Crazy from sheep,” says Windy. “None of us have seen him for a week.”
“Sheep does strange things to folks,” says the sheriff, and Hank, I
don’t care to argue with them. It ain’t the sheep, it’s shocks.
“You might as well take that rope off his neck,” says the sheriff, and I
says—
“If you’re going to pass your generosity around in big gobs that way,
you might take these boots off first—the rope don’t hurt me none.”
Well, Hank, I hobbles away with Uncle Gabe to where the supply wagon is,
and climbs on the seat beside of Emmeline. I sure am a weary person,
Hank.
“Dobie,” says Emmeline, “you simply can’t keep out of trouble, can you?”
Hank there ain’t no use arguing with a woman, so I ignores her, and
pretty soon she says:
“Anyway, Dobie, I’m glad you’re going out with us, ’cause I’d worry
about you now. There’s a crazy man or something around that camp. It
jumped right in the tent, and chased auntie and me away over the hills.
And then it knocked uncle down and hung a horse collar around his neck.”
Uncle Gabe looks at me, kind of queer-like, Hank, and I wouldn’t swear
to it, but it looked like a wink, so I said—
“Better turn around and take me back to the sheep camp.”
“No,” says he, “I made this trip out here to take you back. I’ve sold
out all my sheep.”
Well, Hank, I ain’t got no more job than a jackrabbit, so I’m writing to
you, not for money, ’cause you can’t understand that kind of talk, but I
want you to go to the old man and say to him—
“Dobie Dalton is a danged good puncher and a upright honorable sort of a
person, and he’d come back to the Lazy Y in a minute.”