“Wal, wal, wal!” he exclaimed, at length. “Thet’s fine, an’ it’s powerful funny. Mebbe you don’t see how funny? Wal, Nels has jest been lordin’ it over the boys about how you showed him, an’ now you’ll hev to show every last cowboy on the place the same thing. Cowboys are the jealousest kind of fellers. They’re all crazy about you, anyway. Take Jim out hyar. Why, thet lazy cowpuncher jest never would make bread. He’s notorious fer shirkin’ his share of the grub deal. I’ve knowed Jim to trade off washin’ the pots an’ pans fer a lonely watch on a rainy night. All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin’ over. Then he’ll crow over his bunkie, Frank Slade, an’ then Frank’ll get lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine. Cowboys are amazin’ strange critters, Miss Majesty. An’ now thet you’ve begun with them this way, you’ll hev to keep it up. I will say I never seen such a bunch to work. You’ve sure put heart in them.” “Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that,” replied Madeline. “And I shall be pleased to teach them all. But may I not have them all up here at once—at least those off duty?” “Wal, I reckon you can’t onless you want to hev them scrappin’,” rejoined Stillwell, dryly. “What you’ve got on your hands now, Miss Majesty, is to let ’em come one by one, an’ make each cowboy think you’re takin’ more especial pleasure in showin’ him than the feller who came before him. Then mebbe we can go on with cattle-raisin’.” Madeline protested, and Stillwell held inexorably to what he said was wisdom. Several times Madeline had gone against his advice, to her utter discomfiture and rout. She dared not risk it again, and resigned herself gracefully and with subdued merriment to her task. Jim Bell was ushered into the great, light, spotless kitchen, where presently Madeline appeared to put on an apron and roll up her sleeves. She explained the use of the several pieces of aluminum that made up the bread-mixer and fastened the bucket to the table-shelf. Jim’s life might have depended upon this lesson, judging from his absorbed manner and his desire to have things explained over and over, especially the turning of the crank. When Madeline had to take Jim’s hand three times to show him the simple mechanism and then he did not understand she began to have faint misgivings as to his absolute sincerity. She guessed that as long as she touched Jim’s hand he never would understand. Then as she began to measure out flour and milk and lard and salt and yeast she saw with despair that Jim was not looking at the ingredients, was not paying the slightest attention to them. His eyes were covertly upon her. “Jim, I am not sure about you,” said Madeline, severely. “How can you learn to make bread if you do not watch me mix it?” “I am a-watchin’ you,” replied Jim, innocently.