Injun and Whitey to the Rescue | Page 5

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 dogs, but they got one fault--they're snobs. They don't like shabby men," Bill repeated for emphasis.
As Whitey thought of this he remembered that the dogs he had known had this failing, if it was a failing. He also tried to think of some reason for it, so he could prove that Bill was wrong, but he couldn't. That is, he couldn't think of anything until Bill had gone away and it was too late. Then it occurred to him that it was only the dogs that belonged to the well-dressed that disliked the poorly dressed. That a shabby man's dog loved him just as well as though he wore purple and fine linen, whatever that was. Whitey looked around for Bill to confound him with this truth, but Bill had disappeared--a way