Part 23 (1/2)
It was Old Hicks, however, who interested Tad most. Hicks's first words after being introduced were in apology for being cook on a sheep ranch.
He was limping about, flouris.h.i.+ng a frying-pan to accentuate his protests.
”I'm a cowpuncher, I am. Wish I'd never joined this mutton outfit,”
he growled.
”Then why did you?” asked Tad, smiling broadly.
”Why? I joined because I could get more pay. That's why. What you suppose I joined for?”
”I thought perhaps you preferred sheep,” answered the lad meekly.
”Like them--like mutton?” snarled Old Hicks, hurling his frying-pan angrily into the chuck wagon. ”Between sheep and had Injuns, give me the Injun every time. Why, every time I have to cook one it makes me sick; it does.”
”Indians? Do you cook Indians?” asked Stacy, who had been an interested listener to the conversation.
”Wha--wha--cook Indians? No! I cook mutton. What do you take me for?”
”I--I--I didn't know,” muttered Stacy meekly. ”Thought I heard you say you did.”
”You got another think coming,” growled the cook, limping away. ”Come over here and take a sniff at this kettle?” he called, turning back to Tad.
The lad did so.
”Smells fine, doesn't it?”
”I think so. What is it, mutton?”
”Boiled mutton. I kin smell the wool. Bah.”
”Do you cook them with the wool on?” asked Chunky, edging nearer the kettle.
”See here, young man. This here is a bad country to ask fool questions in. Use your eyes and ears. Give your tongue a rest. It'll stop on you some day.”
Chunky retired somewhat crestfallen, and from that moment on he kept aloof from the irascible cook, whom he held in wholesome awe.
”Come and get it!” bellowed Old Hicks, who, after prodding about the interior of the kettle with a sharp stick for some time, decided that the hated mutton was ready to be served.
The Pony Riders did not share Hicks's repugnance to mutton. They helped themselves liberally, and even Phil Simms went so far as to pa.s.s his plate for a second helping. By the time the meal had been finished twilight was upon them.
The boys, when Professor Zepplin called their attention to the lateness of the hour, made haste to pitch their tents, while Mr. Simms, with Phil and the sheepmen, looked on approvingly.
”You boys go at it like troopers,” he smiled. ”You'll have to pitch your own, too, after to-day, Philip.”
”We'll help him,” chorused the boys. ”We've got to do something to earn our board,” said Ned.
”If we eat all the time the way we have tonight, there won't be many sheep left to graze by the time we've finished the trip,” laughed Walter.