Pink it was who observed the Old Man writing a check for Andy.  He took it that Andy had called for his time, and when Andy rolled his bed and stowed it away in the bunk-house, saddled a horse and rode up the grade toward town, the whole outfit knew for a certainty that Andy had quit.

Before many hours had passed they, too, saddled and rode away, with the wagons and the cavvy following after—­and they were headed for Great Falls and the fair there to be held; or, more particularly, the rough-riding contest to which they had looked forward eagerly and with much enthusiasm, and which they were now approaching gloomily and in deep humiliation.  Truly, it would be hard to find a situation more galling to the pride of the Happy Family.

But Andy Green had not called for his time, and he had no intention of quitting; for Andy was also suffering from that uncomfortable malady which we call hurt pride, and for it he knew but one remedy—­a remedy which he was impatient to apply.  Because of the unfriendly attitude of the Happy Family, Andy had refused to take them into his confidence, or to ride with them to the fair.  Instead, he had drawn what money was still placed to his credit on the pay-roll, had taken a horse and his riding outfit and gone away to Dry Lake, where he intended to take the train for Great Falls.

In Dry Lake, however, he found that the story of his downfall had preceded him, thanks to the exultant men of the Diamond G, and that the tale had not shrunk in the telling.  Dry Lake jeered him as openly as it dared, and part of it—­that part which had believed in him—­was quite as unfriendly as was the Happy Family.  To a man they took it for granted that he would withdraw from the contest, and they were not careful to conceal what they thought.  Andy found himself rather left alone, and he experienced more than once the unpleasant sensation of having conversation suddenly lag when he came near, and of seeing groups of men dissolve awkwardly at his approach.  Andy, before he had been in town an hour, was in a mood to do violence.

For that reason he kept his plans rigidly to himself.  When someone asked him if he had quit the outfit, he had returned gruffly that the Flying U was not the only cow-outfit in the country, and let the questioner interpret it as he liked.  When the train that had its nose pointed to the southwest slid into town, Andy did not step on, as had been his intention.  He remained idly leaning over the bar in Rusty Brown’s place, and gave no heed.  Later, when the eastbound came schreeching through at midnight, it found Andy Green on the platform with his saddle, bridle, chaps, quirt and spurs neatly sacked, and with a ticket for Havre in his pocket.  So the wise ones said that they knew Andy would never have the nerve to show up at the fair, after the fluke he had made at the Flying U ranch, and those whose pockets were not interested considered it a very good joke.