"Ma-a-a-aa!"
The quavering plaintiff bleat evoked a look of admiration.
"Oh, you have--have you? I more'n half believe you know what I'm sayin'. You're some sheep, Mary, an' if you jest stick 'round with me till you're growed I'll make a man of you. How'd you like a cigarette?"
"Ma-a-aa-aa!"
Bowers chuckled.
"Wait till I have my smoke an' then you kin have yourn, young feller."
He rolled and smoked half a cigarette while the lamb stood looking up into his face wistfully.
"I'll jest knock the fire out fer you first, then you kin have your whack out of it."
He shook the tobacco from the paper into his hand and the lamb ate it to the last fleck with gusto.
Bowers cried gleefully: "You're a reg'lar roughneck, Mary! Doggone you! As you might say--you ain't no lady!"
The herder laughed aloud at his witticism and might have rambled on for some time longer if the crashing of brush had not attracted his attention. A man on horseback was picking his way through the quaking asp and Bowers awaited his approach with keen interest.
"How are you?" the stranger nodded.
"Won't you git off?"
Bowers strained his eyes to read the brand on the shoulder of the horse the man turned loose, but it told him nothing. While the stranger squatted on his heel, Bowers rubbed Mary's horns during an interval of unembarrassed silence.
"Bum?" inquired the stranger, eying Mary with a look which could not be called admiring.
"Yep." The garrulous Bowers had become suddenly reticent. The notion was growing that he did not like his visitor. He asked finally: "Et yet?"
"Not sence daylight. I seen your tepee up toward the top and thought maybe I could locate your wagon and git dinner."
"I'll feed anybody that's hungry," Bowers replied ambiguously.
The stranger asked innocently: "Who does this Outfit belong to?"
"Miss Kate Prentice owns this brand."
"Oh--the 'Cheap Queen'!"
Bowers's head swung as though on a pivot.
"What did you say?"
"I've heerd that's what they call her."
Bowers's eyes narrowed as he answered: "Not in my hearin'." Then he added: "Nobody can knock the outfit I'm workin' for and eat their grub while they're doin' it. Sabe?"
"Don't know as I blame you," the stranger conciliated.
"I'll go cook," said Bowers shortly, getting up.
The stranger urged politely: "Don't do nothin' extry on my account."
"I ain't goin' to," Bowers responded. "If we had some ham we'd have some ham and eggs if we had eggs. Do you like turnips?"
"I kin eat 'em."
"My middle name is 'turnips,'" said Bowers. "I always cooks about a bushel!"