It was as much as the rest of us could do, so weak were we from laughing, to prevent the angry plainsman from laying violent hands on Cunningham, who, of course, was ignorant of having given offense. In short, Cunningham was so persistently where he ought not to be, and so entirely in everybody’s way, that some of the boys were like to die of suppressed profanity. Billy asked Paul for mercy’s sake to set the man at something where he wouldn’t be playing the old Harry with things all the time. Paul elected him to the position of branding-iron tender, whose duties are to heat the irons, and hand them out when needed. Even here the Englishman distinguished himself, for, peering near-sightedly around with a hot iron in his hand, he touched Billy’s buckskin bronco on the flank with it. The ugly little beast promptly kicked Cunningham into the fire, and then tore around the corral, spreading disaster and confusion. Poor Cunny got several bad burns, for which the rest of us were not as sorry as we should be, inasmuch as they forced him to knock off for the day. If anything could have added to the absurdity of Cunningham’s performance, it would be that he was the “perfect gentleman” all the while; explaining, apologizing, or hazarding an opinion, it was always with the little graces of the drawing-room. How ludicrous this manner is in a rushing, dusty, hot, swearing cattle-corral is a thing that has to be seen to be appreciated. We always tried to secure Cunningham’s services elsewhere when we had something on hand which we really wished to put through. The man had a modest pride in his tent that it would have been wicked to disturb, yet for his safety’s sake it became a friendly duty to drop him a word of warning. He had landed in the country in the spring, and hitherto the weather had been delightful, without an omen of the furious storms that were sure to come during the summer. It seemed to us that his tent wouldn’t amount to much in the grass of Dakota, but we didn’t like to tell him so. At last we appointed Neighbor Case our commissioner to acquaint Cunningham with some facts we thought he had overlooked. After praising the tent and its surroundings, Neighbor came to the heart of his message. “It’s mighty nice--mighty nice, Lengthy, he said. “Yet, if you want my advice, I’ll tell you what I’d do; I’d take a half hitch around a boulder with them guy-ropes, if I was you. Even then, you wouldn’t have no sure thing. Wait till you see one of our little breezes come cantering over the prairies, son; you’ll wish you had a cast-iron tent, fastened to the bowels of the earth with bridge-bolts.”