"My mem'ry's plumb onreliable an' scattered this maunin'," replied the cowpuncher; "but I shorely recalls them greasers, now you speaks." "And I'm sliding out chips you catches 'em all right?" "Which we shorely does, mebbe two days later, an' swings 'em up to two cottonwoods without any ondue delays," said the cattle-ranger indifferently. Then, turning to the tattooed Britisher, who had just managed to procure him a plate, pannikin, and cutlery, he inquired with a sly twinkle in his eye: "How's that 'ere sun lookin' to-day, Jack?" Now the rolling-stone was a keen watcher of the heavens, and in his chest he kept a big star telescope which, from the care he took of it, seemed to be his chief joy in life. Many an hour of a hard-earned night watch below had he spent with his eye glued to that glass, and he was a mine of queer information and out-of-the-way knowledge on the subject of sun, moon, and stars, and with a certain air of pride and self-satisfaction he was wont to describe himself as an "astronomical weather-prophet." At Broncho's question he threw up his head like a war-horse scenting battle, and replied with the gravity befitting such a serious subject: "The sun rose well this morning, and I expect calm weather with light variable airs before we take the trades." Ben Sluice the miner looked up in surprise at Jack's professional weather-clerk air. "I presumes the 'old gentleman's' healthy, and ain't been a-developin' of measles none lately?" ventured the cowboy meekly. "Well, Broncho, I'm afraid there is a small spot beginning to show faintly on the lower disk," declared the Britisher. "You don't say? That 'ere luminary is shore misfortunate that away. You-alls recalls how he suffers so bad from that malady when we're out on the Circle-dot outfit together. I allow his grub is too heatin'," drawled the cowpuncher with a faint smile. Meanwhile, sundry black bottles had made their appearance and been passed round. Voices began to be raised, Hollins, the irrepressible cockney, especially being full of talk. "Well, byes, stryke me, but we're h'all in the syme boat. This mykes the tenth bloody time h'I've been shanghaied, but--oh lor! Black Dyvis! My crymes, byes, wait till you see'd 'im use a belayin'-pin; h'I've sailed with 'im afore, an' h'I knows----" "The divil, but if it's a bastin' the rascal wants, I'll be after tryin' to oblige him ivery time," cried a wild-looking Irishman. "'E'll give you h'all you wants at turn-to time, Pat, I tells ye stroight." At this moment a slight diversion was caused by Jack Derringer unearthing the occupant of the bunk below his own, so that the cowpuncher could have it. "Now den, what de hell----" began a big German as he found himself seized by the scruff of his neck and yanked out on to the deck.