"Go yore own self, kid. I ain't roundin' up trouble for no babe just out of the cradle," retorted the grinning rider. "What's yore hurry, Crumbs?"
The young man addressed had started away but now turned. "No hurry, I reckon, but I'm going fishing."
Steve chuckled. "You're headed in a bee line for Old Man Trouble. The Johnnie boy up at the Lodge is plumb sore on this outfit. Seems that you lads raised ructions last night and broken his sweet slumbers. He's got the kick of a government mule coming. Why can't you wild Injuns behave proper?"
"We only gave Curly a chapping because he let the flapjacks burn," returned Crumbs with a smile. "You see, he's come of age most, Curly has. He'd ought to be responsible now, but he ain't. So we gave him what was coming to him."
"Well, you explain that to Mr. Verinder if he sees you. He's sure on his hind laigs about it."
"I expect he'll get over it in time," Crumbs said dryly. "Well, so-long, boys. Good fishing to-night."
"Same to you," they called after him.
"Some man, Crumbs," commented Steve.
"He'll stand the acid," agreed Colter briefly.
"What's his last name? I ain't heard you lads call him anything but Crumbs. I reckon that's a nickname."
Curly answered the question of the cowpuncher. "His name 's Kilmeny--Jack Kilmeny. His folks used to live across the water. Maybe this Honorable Miss Kilmeny and her brother are some kin of his."
"You don't say!"
"Course I don't know about that. His dad came over here when he was a wild young colt. Got into some trouble at home, the way I heard it. Bought a ranch out here and married. His family was high moguls in England--or, maybe, it was Ireland. Anyhow, they didn't like Mrs. Kilmeny from the Bar Double C ranch. Ain't that the way of it, Colter?"
The impassive gaze of the older man came back from the rushing river. "You know so much about it, Curly, I'll not butt in with any more misinformation," he answered with obvious sarcasm.
Curly flushed. "I'd ought to know. Jack's father and mine were friends, so's he and me."
"How come you to call him Crumbs?"
"That's a joke, Steve. Jack's no ordinary rip-roaring, hell-raisin' miner. He knows what's what. That's why we call him Crumbs--because he's fine bred. Pun, see. Fine bred--crumbs. Get it?"
"Sure I get it, kid. I ain't no Englishman. You don't need a two-by-four to pound a josh into my cocoanut," the rider remonstrated.