"
Bud stood licking the cigarette he had rolled to hide an
unaccountable trembling of his fingers. "When I come back
I'll be in a position to buy you out! I'll borrow Skate and
Maverick, if you don't mind, till I get located somewhere."
He paused while he lighted the cigarette. "It's the custom,"
He reminded his father unnecessarily, "to furnish a man a
horse to ride and one to pack his bed, when he's fired."
"Ye've horses of yer own," Bob Birnie retorted, "and you've
no need to borrow."
Bud stood looking down at his father, plainly undecided. "I
don't know whether they're mine or not," he said after a
minute. "I don't know what it cost you to raise me. Figure it
up, if you haven't already, and count the time I've worked
for you. Since you've put me on a business basis, like
raising a calf to shipping age, let's be businesslike about
it. You are good at figuring your profits--I'll leave it to
you. And if you find I've anything coming to me besides my
riding outfit and the clothes I've got, all right; I'll take
horses for the balance."
He walked off with the swing to his shoulders that had always
betrayed him when he was angry, and Bob Birnie gathered his
beard into a handful and held it while he stared after him.
It had been no part of his plan to set his son adrift on the
range without a dollar, but since Bud's temper was up, it
might be a good thing to let him go.
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