“Ain’t you a little old to be wrangling dudes?” Chad’s tone was intentionally condescending. Henry didn’t bother to look up. “Not much of a talker, ‘eh? Well, no matter. I don’t know if Jim here has told you, but I’m the boss on this outfit. And if you’re workin’ here, that means I’m your boss, too.” Henry continued oiling his saddle as if Chad didn’t exist.

Chad walked up the steps and stopped next to Jim.“Them horses need to be untacked and fed,” he grunted. “You better get to it.”

Jim nodded and walked down the steps and toward the horses about the same time Chad turned his attention back to Henry. “There is one other thing you might want to keep in mind. I’m a man of few words, so when I say come, you better come.”

Henry finally stopped oiling his saddle and looked Chad in the eye. “Well, Chip,” he said, equally as condescending as Chad had been to him. “I’m a man of few words, too. So if I shake my head, I ain’t comin’.”

Chad was incensed that Henry pronounced his name wrong. “The name is Chad. And I’ll tell you something, pard. The quicker you lose that attitude, the quicker you and I can become friends.”

Henry nodded and went back to oiling his saddle. “I got all the friends I can stand just now,” he said quietly.

“You a troublemaker Henry?” Chad’s tone had turned threatening. “I sure hope not. I can’t stand troublemakers and I can tell you right now, I won’t tolerate it.”

Henry slowly looked up. Chad’s threat was idle, and Henry knew it. Chad was a talker and very little more, and Henry had been dealing with “talkers” pretty effectively for over thirty years, and he was good at that. It started back in his rodeo days. Even though Henry didn’t drink much at the time, he and Annie would usually go to the bar to socialize with friends after the rodeo was over. Once in a while, some local wannabe cowboy would decide to pick a fight with one of the competitors to prove he was just as tough as the competitor was. Usually, these fellows were “talkers.” Henry hated fighting. He always had and always would. However, if a fight was inevitable, it had always been his philosophy that it should be over as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Henry realized very early on that many men who had wanted to fight had to literally talk themselves into it. Usually goaded on by their friends or drunkenness, they would beat around the bush so long that by the time a punch was actually thrown it would come out of nowhere and that’s when things would become dangerous. If one of these “talkers” would pick a fight with Henry, they’d get so focused on telling him how bad they were going to beat him, they never saw Henry’s thundering right fist collide with their forehead, and just like that, the fight was over.