“This man here?”
“Yes, bossman. And take it from me, he’s one good scout.”
“Good skinner, did you say?” queried Hunter Mangan.
“Well—I said ‘good scout;’ but I’ll bet he’s a good skinner, too. If he ain’t, I’ll make him one.”
“I’ll say he’d have a good instructor, Halfaman. But you know me. I’m a crank about good men. I pay well and I feed the best, and I treat a man white from the word go. Therefore I expect—and always get—the best stiffs on the line. So if your side kick is there, he’s on.”
Both Mangan and Canby had been keenly watching the man who accompanied Halfaman Daisy. While he was strong and well-built and bronzed, and had a fearless but kindly eye, he looked anything but a railroad stiff.
“Well, Mr. Mangan,” Halfaman was saying, “he’s an educated plug, this Ike; and I’ll bet he could do lots o’ things better’n chasin’ Jack an’ Ned.”
“That may be true, but it happens that we don’t need anything but skinners. Let him speak for himself, Halfaman. Step out here, old-timer. Can you knock Jack and Ned in the collar to suit the worst crank in the business?”
The prospective teamster smiled. “I can’t truthfully say that I’m an expert skinner,” he admitted. Halfaman, greatly disturbed, was nudging him with an elbow. “I’ve had quite a little to do with horses and mules, but I can’t say that I can handle them as I’ve seen some men do it.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that’s a frank confession, anyway. Most men don’t admit their shortcomings so readily when applying for a job. Well, I’m sorry—but we’ve got a fine lot of railroad stock—all young—and I hate to risk ruining them by breaking in new men on them. It doesn’t take long for a green skinner to put the fixings to a young team—you know that, Halfaman. Sorry, old-timer, but——”