There was a heavy silence at this, for all the outfits in the country were full-handed now, and no one was looking for men. And Henry Lee was a good man to work for--he treated his hands white, fed them well, and paid the top price to boot. He also kept the best of them over winter, while others were riding the chuck-line or hanging around livery-stables in town. But nobody said a word, for they knew it would do no good; and, after he had paid them off and gone back to town, the luckless ones who had been fired drew off by themselves and talked the matter over. To be sure, they had the price of a drunk in their clothes; but they were fired and put afoot now, and town has no allurements to a cowboy unless he can ride in on a horse. So Hardy Atkins and his Texas followers lolled sulkily around the camp, sleeping fitfully in their blankets and glowering at Brigham Clark and the few careful spirits who had escaped their employer's wrath. And in particular they glowered at Bowles, the virtuous and dutiful, and hated him above all the rest for his air of conscious rectitude. Supper that evening offered no appeal to the drink-shaken carousers, but they stayed for it all the same, hoping against hope that the boss would come back and give them another chance. But they knew him too well to think it--Henry Lee would let his whole calf crop grow up to be mavericks before he would take back his word. Still they waited, and along toward sundown, as luck would have it, he came out; and with him, riding like a queen on her spirited horse, came Dixie May. She looked them over coldly, returning short answers to their shamefaced greetings and saving a smile for the cook. "Good-evening, Mr. Mosby," she said, pouring out a little coffee for politeness' sake. "And so these boys had to go on a drunk and get fired, did they? Well, you won't have so many to cook for now--that'll be one consolation." "Yes, Miss Dix," agreed the cook, "but mighty little, believe me! One cowboy is jest about as ornery an' no 'count as the other--and whisky gits 'em all. They're all alike--I been cookin' for 'em fer thirty years, off an' on, and they ain't one of 'em is worth the powder to blow 'im to--excuse me, Miss Dix. But, as I was sayin', take 'em as they come, and keep 'em out of town, and these boys is pretty fair--pretty fair; I'm sorry to see 'em go." At this kindly word of intercession, a new light came into the eyes of the unemployed; but Dixie Lee had come on a mission, and it was not her policy to yield in a minute. "Well, _I'm_ not!" she declared. "If you'd listened to the amount of foolishness that I've suffered from these boys, Mr. Mosby; if you'd heard 'em say how they were going to save their wages and buy a little bunch of cows--and tell about the quarter-section of land they had their eye on--and swear, so help me God, they'd never take another drink of whisky as long as they lived--I believe you'd be glad to get rid of 'em!"