Big-mouthed old woman, that's what--" his tone
dropped and the words sank into vague mutterings which a strangling
cough cut short. "Blasted idiot," he whispered, tears coming into his
eyes at the effort. Burning hair is bad for throat and temper alike.
Red deftly knocked his companion's iron up and spoke sharply. "You mind
yourn better--that makes the third you've tried to brand twice. Why
don't you look what yo're doing? Hot iron! Hot iron! What're you fellers
doing?" he shouted down at the heaters. "This ain't no time to go
to sleep. How d'ye expect us to do any work when you ain't doing any
yoreselves!" Red's temper was also on the ragged edge.
"You've got one in yore other hand, you sheep!" snorted one of the iron
heaters with restless pugnacity. "Go tearing into us when you--" he
growled the rest and kicked viciously at the fire.
"Lovely bunch," grinned Billy who, followed by Pete Wilson, mounted the
platform to relieve the branders. "Chase yoreselves--me an' Pete are
shore going to show you cranky bugs how to do a hundred an hour. Ain't
we, Pete? An' look here, you," he remarked to the heaters, "don't you
fellers keep _us_ waiting for hot irons!"
"That's right! Make a fool out of yoreself first thing!" snapped one of
the pair on the ground.
"Billy, I never loved you as much as I do this minute," grinned Johnny
wearily.
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