“Looks like you’d steal yurself a blanket somewhur,” Bowers commented.
“I wouldn’t a slept the fore part of last night anyhow,” Bunch said pointedly.
“I hope I didn’t keep you awake with my singin’?” Bowers’s voice expressed a world of solicitude.
“Was that you makin’ that comical noise?” Bunch elevated his brows in astonishment. “I thought one of the horses was down, and chokin’.”
Bowers slammed a pyramid of pancakes upon the table.
“Why don’t you take a shovel, Bunch?” he demanded. “You’re losin’ time eatin’ with your knife and fingers.”
“These sweat-pads of yourn would be pretty fair if 'twant fur the lumps of sody a feller’s allus bitin’ into,” the herder commented.
“Maybe you’d ruther do the cookin’ so you kin git ’em to suit you,” Bowers retorted, nettled.
“Oh, I ain’t kickin’—I lived with Injuns a year and I kin eat anything.”
“You got manners like a pet 'coon,” Bowers eyed the herder with disfavor as that person shoved a cake into his mouth with one hand and reached for the molasses jug with the other.