Part 40 (1/2)
”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: ”n.o.body 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!”
The look that his guest sent after him was not pleasant, if Bowers had chanced to see it, but since he did not, he was in a somewhat better humor by the time he hung out of the wagon and called with a degree of cordiality:
”Come and git it!”
The visitor arose with alacrity.
”Want a warsh?”
The stranger inspected a pair of hands that looked as if they had been greasing axles.
”No, I ain't very dirty.”
”Grab a root and pull!” Bowers urged with all the hospitality he could inject into his voice, as the guest squeezed in between the table and the sideboard. ”Jest bog down in that there honey, pardner--it's something special--cottonwood blossoms and alfalfy. And here's the turnips!”
Conversation was suspended until a pan of biscuits had vanished along with the fried mutton, when Bowers, feeling immeasurably better natured, inquired sociably as he pa.s.sed the broom: