“Much obliged,” conceded Bandy-legs, when the stallion was safely housed and tied securely. “Where yuh headed for, young man?”
“Right here,” Rowdy told him calmly, loosening Dixie's cinch. “I'm the long-lost top hand that the Cross L's been watching the sky-line for, lo! these many moons, a-yearning for the privilege of handing me forty plunks about twice as fast as I've got 'em coming. Where's the boss?”
“Er—I'm him,” confessed Bandy-legs meekly, and circled the two dubiously. “I guess you've heard uh Eagle Creek Smith—I'm him. The Cross L belongs to me.”
Rowdy let out an explosive, and showed a row of nice teeth. “Well, I ain't hard to please,” he added. “I won't kick on that, I guess. I like your looks tolerable well, and I'm willing to take yuh on for a boss. If yuh do your part, I bet we'll get along fine.” His tone was banteringly patronizing “Anyway, I'll try yuh for a spell. You can put my name down as Rowdy Vaughan, lately canned from the Horseshoe Bar.”
“What for?” ventured Bandy-legs—rather, Eagle Creek—still circling Rowdy dubiously.
“What for was I canned?” repeated Rowdy easily. “Being a modest youth, I hate t' tell yuh. But the old man's son and me, we disagreed, and one of his eyes swelled some; so did mine, a little.” He stood head and shoulders above Eagle Creek, and he smiled down upon him engagingly. Eagle Creek capitulated before the smile.
“Well, I ain't got any sons—that I know of,” he grinned. “So I guess yuh can consider yourself a Cross L man till further notice.”
“Why, sure!” The teeth gleamed again briefly. “That's what I've been telling you right along. Where's old Wooden Shoes? He's responsible for me being here.”
“Gone to Chinook. He'll be back in a day or two.” Eagle Creek shifted his feet awkwardly. “Say”—he glanced uneasily behind him—“yuh don't want t' let it get around that yuh sort of—hired me—see?”
“Of course not,” Rowdy assured him. “I was only joshing. If you don't want me, just tell me to hit the sod.”