"No, sir," he said; "you don't see no one strikin' fer the job of cook. That's hard work, that is. These boys all want to sit on a hawse and see the world go by." Once more the heavy silence fell upon them, and Brigham picked up a towel and began to wipe the dishes. "Goin' out to-day?" he inquired, as the boys began to straggle toward the corral. "That's the word!" returned the cook. "Dinner at the north well, and back ag'in fer supper. Pack up and unpack, and pack ag'in at the well. Then cook a dinner and hook up the hawses, and cook some more at the home. Ef Henry Lee don't git me a flunky pretty soon I'm shore goin' to up and quit." He glanced significantly at Bowles as he finished this last remark, but Brigham shook his head. "I seen that Pringle kid come in yisterday," he said. "Mebbe you could git to have him." That closed the conversation, and Bowles moved away. He was sorry for Mr. Mosby, very sorry; but not sorry enough to take a job as official dishwasher. Somehow all the world seemed to be in a conspiracy to make him flunky to the cook. He hurried over to the corral, where the roping was going on, and as he neared the gate he met the boss coming out. On the previous day Mr. Lee had seemed a little under the dominance of his feelings, but this morning he was strictly business. "Mr. Bowles," he said, "I'll keep my word with you and take you on for a puncher. Do your work and keep off Dunbar, and I'll try to get along with you--otherwise you get your time. Now come on back and I'll cut you out a mount." He tied his own horse to a post, and swung up on the corral fence. "You get two gentle horses and five bronks," he continued; "and I'll call Wa-ha-lote a bronk." "Oh, thank you!" began Bowles; but the boss checked him right there. "You've got nothing to thank me for, young man," he said. "I'd rather lose a top hand any time than take on a tenderfoot, so don't think for a minute that I'm stuck on you. Passed my word, that's all--and Wa-ha-lote forgot to buck. Now you see that gray over there--the one with the saddle-marks on his back--that's one of 'em--he's gentle. See this little sorrel, right close--that's Scrambled Eggs--he's a bronk. Then you can have that red roan over there for a night horse, and I'll cut you out some more bronks bymeby. You ride old Gray and the roan for a while--understand? And I employ a twister to break my wild stock, so keep off of them bronks--if--you--please."