The light in his hand revealed the sodless strip fifty feet long and four feet wide. Its depth was to the under side of the grass, a matter of two or three inches. There was a stake at each corner of the bare rectangle and these supported a one-strand fence made of lariats.
Buck scratched his head and then growled a profane request to feel the head of the man who was responsible. He strode into the house and stopped in the kitchen door; and Jake very wearily turned around on his chair and looked at him with intent curiosity.
"What ’n h—l is that scalped grass for?" demanded Buck, evenly.
"That’s th’ beginnin’ of ditch number one," replied Jake. "How ’d you like them lines, eh? Straight as a die. Took me all mornin’ to lay ’em out like that."
"Did it? I congratulate you, Jake—likewise I sympathize with you. I reckon you ’ll get it down a foot in a couple o’ weeks, eh?"
"Oh, quicker’n that," modestly rejoined Jake.
"Did n’t I tell you to dig them ditches close to where th’ Blackfoot empties into th’ Jack?" demanded Buck. "Are you figgerin’ on extendin’ it from here to there? I don’t want a trench no fifteen miles long. To-morrow mornin’ you ride with me an’ I ’ll show you where to dig. An’ don’t you bother stakin’ it off exact, neither. I want them ditches all finished in _three_ days. Did you reckon I was goin’ to drive two thousand head of itch cows fifteen miles so I could dip ’em bang up agin my own front door!"
Pickles bounced in, his rifle under his arm. "Hullo, Buck!" he cried. "Shot a coyote to-day!"
"Good, Pickles," smiled Buck. "Want a job shootin’ a _man_ to-morrow?"
"No, it’s Jake, here," replied Buck. "You take yore rifle an’ come with me an’ Jake to-morrow. If he don’t dig fast enough to suit you, you shoot him in th’ laig."
"Betcher life! Which leg?" asked Pickles, agog with anticipation.
"I ’m leavin’ that to you, Pickles. You ’re gettin’ big enough to figger things out for yoreself."
Jake, grinning, feared Pickles might be carried away with his zeal, and he put in a laughing objection; but he sobered instantly at Buck’s sharp reply.
"I mean it. He ’ll shoot if he ’s a friend o’ mine. I ain’t goin’ to lose a lot of cows ’cause I ’ve got a man too lazy to dig. You ’ve got yore orders, Pickles: obey ’em like a real Bar-20 puncher."