“What for?” ventured Bandy-legs--rather, Eagle Creek--still circling Rowdy dubiously. “What for was I canned?” repeated Rowdy easily. “Being a modest youth, I hate t' tell yuh. But the old man's son and me, we disagreed, and one of his eyes swelled some; so did mine, a little.” He stood head and shoulders above Eagle Creek, and he smiled down upon him engagingly. Eagle Creek capitulated before the smile. “Well, I ain't got any sons--that I know of,” he grinned. “So I guess yuh can consider yourself a Cross L man till further notice.” “Why, sure!” The teeth gleamed again briefly. “That's what I've been telling you right along. Where's old Wooden Shoes? He's responsible for me being here.” “Gone to Chinook. He'll be back in a day or two.” Eagle Creek shifted his feet awkwardly. “Say”--he glanced uneasily behind him--“yuh don't want t' let it get around that yuh sort of--hired me--see?” “Of course not,” Rowdy assured him. “I was only joshing. If you don't want me, just tell me to hit the sod.” “You stay right where you're at!” commanded Eagle Creek with returned confidence in himself and his authority. Of a truth, this self-assured, straight-limbed young man had rather dazed him. “Take your bed and war-bag up to the bunk-house and make yourself t' home till the boys get back, and--say, where'd yuh git that pack-horse?” The laugh went out of Rowdy's tawny eyes. The question hit a spot that was becoming sore. “I borrowed him this morning from Mr. Rodway,” he said evenly. “I'm to take him back to-day. I stopped there last night.” “Oh!” Eagle Creek coughed apologetically, and said no word, while Rowdy led Chub back to the cabin which he had pointed out as the bunk-house; he stood by while Rowdy loosened the pack and dragged it inside. “I guess you can get located here,” he said. “I ain't workin' more'n three or four men just now, but there's quite a few uh the boys stopping here; the Cross L's a regular hang-out for cow-punchers. You're a little early for the season, but I'll see that yuh have something t' do--just t' keep yuh out uh devilment.” Rowdy's brows unbent; it would seem that Eagle Creek was capable of “joshing” also. “It's up t' you, old-timer,” he retorted. “I'm strong and willing, and don't shy at anything but pitchforks.” Eagle Creek grinned. “This ain't no blamed cowhospital,” he gave as a parting shot. “All the hay that's shoveled on this ranch needn't hurt nobody's feelings.” With that he shut the door, and left Rowdy to acquaint himself with his new home. CHAPTER 4. Pink as “Chappyrone.” Rowdy was sprawled ungracefully upon somebody's bunk--he neither knew nor cared whose--and he was snoring unmelodiously, and not dreaming a thing; for when a cow-puncher has nothing in particular to do, he sleeps to atone for the weary hours when he must be very wide-awake. An avalanche descended upon his unwarned middle, and checked the rhythmic ebb and flow of sound. He squawked and came to life clawing viciously.