Joe got on well with Casey. Casey's views on hard work were the same as
Joe's. Hard work, Joe thought, was n't necessary on a selection.
Casey knew a thing or two--so he said. One fine morning, when all the sky
was blue and the butcher-birds whistling strong, Dwyer's cows smashed down
a lot of the fence and dragged it into the corn. Casey, assisted by Joe,
put them all in the yard, and hammered them with sticks. Dwyer came along.
"Those cattle belong to me," he said angrily.
"They belongs t' ME," Casey answered, "until you pay damages." Then he put
his back to the slip-rails and looked up aggressively into Dwyer's face.
Dwyer was a giant beside Casey. Dwyer did n't say anything--he was n't a
man of words--but started throwing the rails down to let the cows out.
Casey flew at him. Dwyer quietly shoved him away with his long, brown
arm. Casey came again and fastened on to Dwyer. Joe mounted the stockyard.
Dwyer seized Casey with both hands; then there was a struggle--on Casey's
part. Dwyer lifted him up and carried him away and set him down on his
back, then hastened to the rails. But before he could throw them down
Casey was upon him again.
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