But--" he waved his cigarette disgustedly "-- that darned Dot outfit would be all over the place, if we pulled out on roundup and left 'em the run of things." He smoked moodily for a minute.

"My religion has changed a lot in the last few days," he observed whimsically.

"My idea of hell is a place where there ain't anything but sheep and sheepherders; and cowpunchers have got to spend thousands uh years right in the middle of the corrals." "If that's the case, I'm going to quit cussing, and say my prayers every night," Andy Green asserted emphatically.
"What worries me," Weary confided, obeying the impulse to talk over his troubles with those who sympathized, "is how I'm going to keep the work going along like it ought to, and at the same time keep them Dot sheep outa the house.

Dunk's wise, all right.

He knows enough about the cow business to know we ye got to get out on the range pretty quick, now.
And he's so mean that every day or every half day he can feed his sheep on Flying U grass, he calls that much to the good.