I've about made up my mind to take the chuck-wagon to town and stock it with grub, and hit out on roundup t'morrer or next day.

I don't see as there's any sense in setting around here waitin' on Luck and lettin' my own work slide.
Chavez boys, they started out yest'day, I heard in town.

And if I don't git right out close onto their heels, I'll likely find myself with a purty light crop uh calves, now I'm tellin' yuh!" Applehead, so completely had he come under the spell of the soft spring air and the lure of the mesa, actually forgot that he had long been in the habit of attending to his calf crop by proxy.
Pink's face brightened briefly.

Then he remembered why they were being kept so close to the ranch, and he grew bored again.
"What if Luck pulled in before we got back, and wanted us to start work on another picture ?" he asked, discouraging the idea reluctantly.

Pink had himself been listening to the call of the wide spaces, and the mere mention of roundup had a thrill for him.
"Well, now, I calc'late my prope'ty is might' nigh as important as Luck's pitcher-making," Applehead contended with a selfishness born of his newly awakened hunger for the far distances.