'Yo're a cheerful lot o' locoed pups,' he said. 'Just bite on this--the foreman has made me segundo, an' if yu don't watch yore steps I'll shake shinin' hell outa yu.'
The grin on his weathered features belied the threat, and with one accord they fell upon him. Under this human avalanche Bill disappeared, and furniture flew in all directions as members of the struggling mass sought for a bit of him to pat. 'Hi, that's my ear yo're pulling off,' came faintly from the depths of the heaving heap of profanity, and then, 'Take yore blame' foot outa my mouth, yu mule,' from another sufferer. 'Don't yu go chawin' it--I ain't no dawg-food,' panted the owner, striving desperately to recover limbs which appeared to have left him. In the height of the confusion the new foreman entered unobserved.
'Seen anythin' o' Yago?' he asked quietly, and then, as the tangled mass disintegrated into units again, permitting the breathless, dishevelled victim to emerge, he added softly, 'An' a good time was had by all. Why for the celebration?'
'We was just congratulatin' Bill,' Curly explained.
'On bein' the foreman's friend?' Sudden asked slyly.
'No, we're all hopin' to be that,' the boy flashed back with a quick smile. 'On bein' made segundo; an' I wanta say yu have shore picked the right man, an' that goes for all of us, I reckon.'
A chorus of assent came from the others, and Sudden's eyes swept over them approvingly. 'Purdie told me he had a good outfit--he was damn right,' he said, and turning to his second in command, 'Good thing they didn't each want a lock o' yore hair, Bill,' with a sardonic glance at the sparse covering of his friend's cranium. 'Yu feel able to hobble outside a minute?'
Yago was soon back. 'Who's next on the slate for the line-house?' he inquired
'Me is, an' thank Gawd it's a day off yet,' Moody replied.
'It ain't,' Bill told him. 'Yu start right after supper; there's allus to be two there in future. 'Nother thing, we gotta take turns watchin' the ranch-house, nights.'
'What's the notion, Bill?' Curly wanted to know. 'Anybody liable to steal it?'
'Dunno, but Jim don't do things for no reason,' Yago said.
'I'll bet he don't,' the boy agreed. 'He has a thoughtful eye, that Jim fella.' He nodded his head. 'I'm thinkin' King Burdette's throne mebbe ain't so secure as he reckons.'
Yago grinned. 'There's times when yu come mighty near sayin' somethin' sensible,' he complimented.
At supper that evening the foreman met the only member of the outfit he had not yet seen, a hatchet-faced youth with a beak of a nose and a saturnine expression, who was presented to him as 'Flatty.' Sudden's look was a question.
'Real name is Watson, but a piece ago we had to rechristen him,' Yago said, and chuckled. 'It was shorely funny.'
'Tell the yarn, Bill; we didn't all see it,' someone urged.
'Well, it was this away,' Yago began. 'Flatty goes out without his slicker--which was plumb careless--gets wet, an' complains plenty persistent o' pains in his back. It's clear he's sufferin' from rheumatism. Moody claims to know a shore cure, an' Flatty admits he's willin' to try anythin' --once. `Once'll be enough,' Moody tells him, an' as things turned out he was dead right. Follerin' instructions, the patient strips to his middle an' lays face down on the bunkhouse table. Moody spreads a blanket over him, fetches a hot flat-iron from the kitchen, an' begins to run it up an' down Flatty's back. `Which if I had a straight iron I could brand you good an' proper,' he remarks. The patient makes noises signifyin' satisfaction.
'But it ain't too long before Moody discovers that pushin' a heavy flat-iron aroun' is tirin' to the wrist. `This launderin' o' humans is shorely no picnic,' he says, an' stops to spit on his han's an' take a fresh holt. But he forgets that a hot iron gets in its best work standin' still. It don't take the invalid no time a-tall to find this out; he lets go a whoop that would 'a' turned an Injun green with envy an' arches his back like a buckin' pony. The iron mashes two o' Moody's toes, but he don't wait; Flatty's face, emergin' from under the blanket, looks to him like the wrath o' God, an' he aims to be elsewheres when the lightnin' strikes. He makes the door a healthy flea's jump ahead an' points for the small corral, plannin' to climb a hoss, but Flatty is crowdin' him, an' he has to run round it. His busted foot handicaps him, but the pursuin' gent ain't got no suspenders an' has to hold his pants up, which evens things some. Also, Flatty ain't savin' his breath, an' the things he asks his Creator to do to Moody yu wouldn't hardly believe.
'It was shorely funny to see them two skippin' round the corral like a coupla jack-rabbits, Flatty without a stitch above his middle, an' the big red brand o' the iron showin' clear on his back. They does the first lap in record time, an' then Flatty's luck breaks--he stubs his toe on a stump an' flings his han's up to save hisself. An', o' course, that's the minit Miss Nan appears, comin' to get her pony. Flatty gives her one horrified look, grabs his slippin' pants, an' streaks for the bunkhouse. Moody pulls up an' tries to look unconcerned.
'What on earth is the matter with Watson?' Miss Nan asks.
'Just a li'l race,' Moody explains. 'I bet I could beat him even if he stripped.
'Yo're the poorest liar in the outfit,' Miss Nan smiles, an' to this day Moody don't know whether she meant it as a compliment. We gets Flatty smoothed down after a bit--not with the iron this time--an' he consents to let Moody go on breathin', but he'll carry that brand till he caches.'
'Which Miss Nan shorely saved yore triflin' life,' Flatty grinned at the other actor in the comedy.
'Shucks, I had yu beat a mile,' Moody retorted. 'What yu gotta belly-ache about, anyways--I cured yu.'
The wrangle went on, good-humoured, mordant jests which showed the men were real friends. Sudden listened with a smile; he felt he was going to like this outfit.
About two hours later the new foreman of the C P rode into Windy, added his horse to the dozen or so already attached to the hitch-rail outside 'The Plaza,' and stepped inside. Smaller than 'The Lucky Chance,' the saloon differed in little else save that it was rather more ornate; mirrors, and pictures of a sort, adorned the walls, which were of squared logs, and the tables and chairs were of better quality. In many little ways the hand of a woman made itself evident.
But if 'The Plaza' was no more than a commonplace Western saloon, it possessed one feature which raised it above the rut--its owner. Seated behind the bar, she looked like a fine jewel in a pinch-beck setting. Her beautiful black hair, plaited and coiled upon her small head, was held in place by a great Spanish comb set with red stones. A flame-coloured dress of silk revealed neck and arms, and on her white bosom, suspended by a slender chain of gold, was a single ruby, gleaming like a new-spilt spot of blood. She had been chatting to the bar-tender and regarding the scene with the indifference of use, but her eyes lit up when Sudden, hat in hand, stepped up to the bar.
'Ah, my so brave caballero has come to veezit ze poor --how you say--tenderfoot?' she greeted.
'Shucks,' he smiled, as he took the slim white hand she extended. 'I ain't no more a caballero than yu are a Greaser, an' that pony warn't wantin' to get away from yu--hosses have sense.'
She clapped her hands softly. 'A compliment, not so?' she laughed.
'Yu oughta know,' he said. 'Reckon yu get a-plenty.'
A little shadow flitted across her face. 'True, my friend,' she said soberly. 'And what are they worth? I'd give them all for one honest word of censure.' Then the dancing lights came back into her eyes. 'Not that I don't get any of that, you know. Oh yes, from my own sex especially. I am a wicked woman, a brazen hussy, and you'll lose your character if you speak to me.'
The cow-puncher grinned. 'Fella can't lose what he ain't got--I'm a pretty desperate person my own self,' he bantered, for the bitterness behind her gay tone was very apparent. 'Also, I never did allow anyone to pick my friends for me.'
He saw her face change. 'Hell! what's that fool trying to do?' she cried.
Trouble had started at a neighbouring table. A big, blue shirted miner with a coarse, liquor-bloated face was on his on his feet fumbling for a gun at his hip and mouthing curses.
In an instant the girl had slipped from her seat.
'Lemme 'tend to this,' Sudden suggested.
'No, I can handle it,' she replied.
Raising the flap, she stepped from behind the bar and three quick strides brought her to the trouble-maker just as his weapon left the holster. The men he had been playing with were standing, hands on their own guns, watching him uncertainly.
'Put that gun back and get out of here,' the woman said sharply.
The man looked at her, standing slim and straight before him, and for a moment it seemed that he would
