He turned to go but the cattleman stopped him in his second stride. His bluff had been called, for it would never do to go to a show-down--not unless he wanted a man's blood on his hands. "Here! Wait a minute!" he cried impatiently. "I don't want to get you killed, so what's the use of talking? The only way for you to get to be a cow-puncher is to work up to it, the way everybody does. I'll give you a job as flunky at twenty a month and found, and if you make good I'll put you on for horse wrangler. How does that strike you?" "Ah--what are the duties of a flunky?" inquired Bowles, cautiously and without enthusiasm. "You know, I'm quite content with your first proposal." "Very likely," answered Mr. Lee dryly. "But wait till you see the horse. All a flunky has to do is to help the cook, wash the dishes, drag up a little wood, and drive the bed-wagon." "It's very kind of you, I'm sure," murmured Mr. Bowles; "but I think I prefer the other." "The other what?" "Why, the other position--the job of cow-puncher." "You don't think I'll let you ride that horse, do you?" demanded Mr. Lee sternly. "Why--so I understood you." The old cattleman snorted and muttered to himself. He had talked too much and that was all there was to it. Now he would have to make some concessions to pay for it. "Listen to me, young man," he said, rising and tapping him on the shoulder. "The horse that killed Dunbar is the worst man-eater in the country--I ought to have shot the brute long ago--and if you try to ride him he'll throw you before you git your stirrup. More'n that, he'll kick you before you hit the ground, and jump on you before you bounce. My twister, Hardy Atkins, won't go near 'im, and he's one of the best riders in Arizona; so what's the use of talking about it? Now, you're a stranger here, and I'll make an exception of you--how about that flunky job?" "Why--really----" Mr. Bowles hesitated a moment. "Perhaps it's only in the name, but I'd rather not accept such a menial position. Of course, it's very kind of you to offer me the alternative, but----" "Now, here!" cried the cattleman fiercely. "I'll make you assistant horse wrangler, at thirty dollars a month, and if you don't accept I'll tell Hardy to catch up the old man-killer and put you in the hospital! I was a fool to talk to you the way I did; but don't you crowd me too far, young man, or you'll find Henry Lee a man of his word! Now, will you wrangle horses, or will we have to ship you East?" Bowles stared at him for a moment, and then he drew himself up proudly. "If the choice lies between a menial position----" he began; and old Henry brought his teeth together with a click. "You poor, dam', ignorant tenderfoot!" he raved. "You don't know when you're being treated white! You ain't worth a cent to me, sir--no, not a cent! And now I'm going to learn you something! I'll ask my twister to put the saddle on old Dunbar in the morning, and you'll have to ride him, sir, or own yourself a coward!"