Injun and Whitey to the Rescue | Page 5

a boot and in it was a man's leg. The boot came,
followed by the leg, followed by a man. From what might be called the
twin straw beds, another man emerged. Both sat upright in the straw
and rubbed their eyes. Whitey didn't wait to see if any more were
coming, or even to think of where he was going. He fled.
Instinct took him toward the ranch house, and good fortune brought
Bill Jordan out of the door at the same moment.
"Bill!" yelled Whitey, "there's two men in the straw stack!"
Bill did not appear unduly excited. "They ain't eatin' the straw, are

they?" he inquired.
"No, but they look awfully tough, and they nearly gave me
heart-disease," Whitey panted.
"If tough-lookin' folks could give me heart-disease, I'd of bin dead long
ago," Bill responded. "Let's go an' size 'em up."
Bill strolled to the stack with Whitey. The two men, now thoroughly
awake, were still sitting upright in the straw. In front of them stood
Sitting Bull. His lower jaw was sticking out farther than usual, and he
was watching the men and awaiting events.
[Illustration: IN FRONT OF THEM STOOD SITTING BULL]
"Hey! Call off yer dog, will ye?" requested one of the men.
"He ain't mine," Bill answered calmly, indicating Whitey. "He's his."
"Well, get him to call him off," said the man. "Every time we move he
makes a noise like sudden death."
Whitey summoned Bull, who came to him obediently enough, and the
men rose to their feet, and stretched themselves and brushed off some
of the straw that clung to their not over-neat attire. They were not as
bad-looking as they might have been, neither were they as
good-looking. One was tall and slim and wore a dark beard. The other
was almost as tall, but, being very fat, did not look his height. He was
clean-shaven, or would have been had it not been for about three days'
stubbly growth. Their clothes were well-worn, and they wore no collars,
but their boots were good.
"What you fellers doin' here?" demanded Bill. "Ain't the bunk house
good enough for you?"
"We got in late, an' ev'body was in bed," said the taller of the two.
"We're walkin' through for th' thrashin'."
"Well, yer late for that too," said Bill.

The threshing in the early days of Montana was an affair in which
many people of all sorts took part, as will be seen later. Bill questioned
the men, and their story was brought out. It seemed that they had come
from Billings, in search of work at threshing. The taller, thin one was
named Hank, but was usually called "String Beans," on account of his
scissors-like appearance. He had formerly been a cowpuncher. The
other had been a waiter, until he got too fat, then he had become a cook.
Originally named Albert, after he had waited in a restaurant for a while
he had been dubbed "Ham And," which, you may know, is a short way
of ordering ham and eggs. And this name in time was reduced to
"Ham."
Bill Jordan did not seem to take the men seriously. Their names may
have had something to do with his attitude, and the early West was not
over-suspicious, anyway. It had been said that "out here we take every
man to be honest, until he is proven to be a thief, and in the East they
take every man to be a thief, until he is proven to be honest." You can
believe that or not, as you happen to live in the West or in the East.
Besides, Bill could make use of the talents of String Beans and Ham.
He needed "hands" to work on the ranch.
When Whitey found that his supposed tragedy was turning into a
comedy, he felt rather bad about it, especially as Bill was inclined to
guy him.
"Lucky you didn't shoot up them two fellers what's named after food,"
Bill said, when the strangers had retired to the bunk house. "Or knock
'em out with some of them upper-cuts you're so handy in passin'
'round." For a boy, Whitey was an expert boxer.
"What was I to think, finding them that way?" Whitey retorted. "And
they don't look very good to me yet."
"Clothin' is only skin deep," said Bill.
Whitey felt called on to justify his alarm. "It's not only their clothes,"
he said, "but their looks. You noticed that Bull didn't like them, and
you know dogs have true instinct about judging people."

"Let me tell you somethin' about dogs," began Bill, who usually was
willing to tell Whitey, or anybody else, something about anything.
"Dogs is supposed to be democratic, but they ain't. They don't like
shabby men. I'm purty fond of