"I’ve heard they can run faster than two cowpunchers," retorted Tex. "For the ashes of your fathers, _lift_! Try it again--now. Inch her over--that’s the way. Now then, _lift_! Once more--_lift_! Phew! All right: proceed, cowboy," he grunted. "Hold yer horses!" shouted Murphy. "What’s th’ good av a section-boss that can’t lay a track?" he demanded, taking up a two-by-four, Tex following his lead. The car was lifted onto the timbers and the procession went on again. "Will they spread, now?" queried Murphy doubtfully, watching them closely. He had just decided they would not when they did. After numerous troubles the little house was reached, the lumber unloaded, and the car sent back without rails. "Goin’ to make any more hauls?" asked the horseman. "We are not," said Tex with emphasis. "We could ’a’ toted this stuff over in half th’ time. _Tempus_ fidgets, an’ I’m catchin’ it. Yore ideas are plumb fine till they’re put in practice." "_My_ ideas?" queried the disfigured rider, his rising eyebrows pushing wrinkles onto his forehead. "Didn’t you tell me to chuck my rope over that bobbin’ handle?" "Do you allus have to do what yo’re told?" retorted Tex. "Answer me that! Do you?" The rider looked down at Jane, who was nearly convulsed, and sighed with deep regret, and because her presence forbade the only appropriate retort, he shook his head sorrowfully and turned to haul the car back to the track. "Hey!" called Tex. "Sling them spools of barb wire across yore saddle. We might as well get more of that stuff while we have yore good-natured assistance. Just chuck it on any place an’ bring it here." "You just can’t chuck a spool of wire on a saddle any place," retorted the puncher. "Was you speakin’ about ideas?" "An’ while yer about it," said Murphy, "ye might bring back a spade, th’ saws, three hammers, that box av nails, an’ them staples. Th’ staples are in a little keg--th’ one without th’ handle. I’ve a mind to start buildin’ today. What do ye say, Tex? Good for ye: yer a man after me own heart." Despite his aches and bruises the puncher’s feet left the stirrups and slowly went up until he stood with his shoulder on the saddle. He waved his legs three times and resumed the correct posture for riding. Words were hopelessly inadequate. He looked at Jane, who was shrieking and pointing at the ground under the horse. Thomas craned his neck and looked down. He thereupon dismounted and picked up one Colt’s .45, one pocket-knife, one watch which now needed expert attention, various coins, a plug of tobacco, and three horseshoe nails. Murphy stared at him, spat disgustedly, and attacked the pile of lumber. After the puncher’s return the work went on rapidly, and when the roof of the coop was finished, the three perspiring workmen stepped back to admire it. "We’ve got to slat them windows," said Tex, thinking of coyotes. "An’ we got thirteen nests to build," said Thomas Watkins.