The Settling of the Sage | Page 4

lanky one
grinned as the stranger turned back through the litter of log
outbuildings, guided by the hissing squeak of bellows and the clang of
a sledge on hot iron. Several men pressed close to the windows in
anticipation of viewing the newcomer's surprise at greeting the Three
Bar boss. But the man did not seem surprised when a young girl
emerged from the open door of the shop as he neared it.
She was clad in a gray flannel skirt and black Angora chaps. The heavy
brown hair was concealed beneath the broad hat that was pulled low
over her eyes after the fashion of those who live much in the open. The
man removed his hat and stood before her.
"Miss Warren?" he inquired. The girl nodded and waited for him to
state his purpose.

"What are the chances of my riding for the Three Bar?" he asked.
"We're full-handed," said the girl. "I'm sorry."
"You'll be breaking out the remuda right soon now," he suggested. "I'm
real handy round a breaking corral."
"They're all handy at that," she said. Then she noted the two horses
before the bunk house and frowned. Her eyes searched the stranger's
face and found no fault with it; she liked his level gaze. But she
wondered what manner of man this was who had so aimlessly
wandered alone for a year and avoided all other men.
"Since you've finally decided to work, how does it happen that you
choose the Three Bar?" she asked, then flushed under his eyes as she
remembered that so many men had wished to ride for her brand more
than for another, their reasons in each case the same.
"Because the Three Bar needs a man that has prowled this country and
gathered a few points about what's going on," he returned.
"And that information is for sale to any brand that hires you!" said the
girl. "Is that what you mean?"
"If it was, there would be nothing wrong with a man's schooling
himself to know all points of his job before he asked for it," he said.
"But it happens that wasn't exactly my reason."
A shade of weariness passed over her face. During the two years that
her father had been confined to the house after being caved in by a
horse and in the one year that had elapsed since his death the six
thousand cows that had worn the Three Bar brand on the range had
decreased by almost half under her management.
"I'll put you on," she said. "But you'll probably be insulted at what I
have to offer. The men start out after the horses to-morrow. I want a
man to stay here and do tinkering jobs round the place till they get
back."

"That'll suit me as well as any," he accepted promptly. "I'm a great little
hand at tinkering round."
The clang of the sledge had ceased and a huge, fat man loomed in the
door of the shop and mopped his dripping face with a bandanna.
"I'm glad you've come," he assured the new-comer. "A man that's not
above doing a little fixing up! A cowhand is the most overworked and
underpaid saphead that ever lost three nights' sleep hand running and
worked seventy-two hours on end; sleep in the rain or not at all--to hold
a job at forty per for six months in the year. The other six he's throwed
loose like a range horse to rustle or starve. Hardest work in the
world--but he don't know it, or money wouldn't hire him to lift his hand.
He thinks it's play. Not one out of ten but what prides himself that he
can't be browbeat into doing a tap of work. Ask him to cut a stick of
firewood and he'll arch his back and laugh at you scornful like. Don't
that beat hell?"
"It do," said the stranger.
"I'm the best wagon cook that ever sloshed dishwater over the tail-gate,
and even better than that in a ranch-house kitchen," the loquacious one
modestly assured him. "But I can't do justice to the meals when I lay
out to do all the chores within four miles and run myself thin collecting
scraps and squaw wood to keep the stove het up. Now since Billie has
hired you, I trust you'll work up a pile of wood that will keep me
going--and folks call me Waddles," he added as an afterthought.
"Very good, Mr. Waddles," the newcomer smiled. "You shall have
your fuel."
The big man grinned.
"That title is derived from my shape and gait," he informed. "My
regular name is Smith--if you're set on tacking a Mister on behind it."
The girl waved the talkative cook aside and turned to the new hand.

"You'll take it then."