“Ma wouldn’t touch a crooked nickel, but she don’t have to now.”
“Where’s the jobs yuh spoke about, Leather?” queried Wheezer.
“Somewhere,” smiled Leather. “There ought to be jobs for honest and
capable cowpunchers somewhere, hadn’t there?”
Wheezer nodded solemnly, as he said:
“Y’betcha, cowboy. I take back what I’ve said about old Nick Ralls. He
meant to shoot square, but he never figured Ma in on the game; so we’ll
jist call it a misdeal.”
Leather nodded as he pinched out the fire on the remaining corner of the
will and crumpled it into a tiny ball, which he tossed aside.
Then, as if by mutual consent, they turned from looking at the old
ranch-house and rode out of sight over the hog-back.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the June 30, 1923 issue of
Adventure magazine.]