He trusted me with this job, and we're going to have results now."The drunkards were sitting round outside the ranch house. It was evening.
They cast a sullen inspection on the new-comers, who returned them no inspection whatever. Drake had his men together and took them to the stable first, a shed with mangers. Here he had them unsaddle. "Because,"he mentioned to Brock, "in case of trouble we'll be sure of their all staying. I'm taking no chances now."Soon the drunkards strolled over, saying good-day, hazarding a few comments on the weather and like topics, and meeting sufficient answers.
"Goin' to stay?"
"Don't know."
"That's a good horse you've got."
"Fair."
But Sam was the blithest spirit at the Malheur Agency. "Hiyah!" he exclaimed. "Misser Dlake! How fashion you come quick so?" And the excellent Chinaman took pride in the meal of welcome that he prepared.
"Supper's now," said Drake to his men. "Sit anywhere you feel like. Don't mind whose chair you're taking--and we'll keep our guns on."Thus they followed him, and sat. The boy took his customary perch at the head of the table, with Brock at his right. "I miss old Bolles," he told his foreman. "You don't appreciate Bolles.""From what you tell of him," said Brock, "I'll examine him more careful."Seeing their boss, the sparrow-hawk, back in his place, flanked with supporters, and his gray eye indifferently upon them, the buccaroos grew polite to oppressiveness. While Sam handed his dishes to Drake and the new-comers, and the new-comers eat what was good before the old inhabitants got a taste, these latter grew more and more solicitous. They offered sugar to the strangers, they offered their beds; Half-past Full urged them to sit companionably in the room where the fire was burning.
But when the meal was over, the visitors went to another room with their arms, and lighted their own fire. They brought blankets from their saddles, and after a little concertina they permitted the nearly perished Uncle Pasco to slumber. Soon they slumbered themselves, with the door left open, and Drake watching. He would not even share vigil with Brock, and all night he heard the voices of the buccaroos, holding grand, unending council.
When the relentless morning came, and breakfast with the visitors again in their seats unapproachable, the drunkards felt the crisis to be a strain upon their sobered nerves. They glanced up from their plates, and down; along to Dean Drake eating his hearty porridge, and back at one another, and at the hungry, well-occupied strangers.
"Say, we don't want trouble," they began to the strangers.
"Course you don't. Breakfast's what you're after.""Oh, well, you'd have got gay. A man gets gay.""Sure."
"Mr. Drake," said Half-past Full, sweating with his effort, "we were sorry while we was a-fogging you up.""Yes," said Drake. "You must have been just overcome by contrition."A large laugh went up from the visitors, and the meal was finished without further diplomacy.
"One matter, Mr. Drake," stammered Half-past Full, as the party rose.
"Our jobs. We're glad to pay for any things what got sort of broke.""Sort of broke," repeated the boy, eyeing him. "So you want to hold your jobs?""If--" began the buccaroo, and halted.
