"King Colt is all right, Whitby, when you know who to loose him at," declared Buck, turning toward the door to the kitchen. "Jake! Jake!" he called.
The sharp, incisive tones told their story and brought buoyancy to the cook, for he was on his feet, across the kitchen, and into the dining-room in apparently one movement, which astounded the soul of that culinary devotee when leisure gave time for reflection.
"Why, Jake, I believe yo 're gettin' to be almost a human, livin' creature," remarked Buck. "I never saw you move so fast before. It ain't pay day now, you know."
"Shore I know, but next week is," grinned Jake, not quite catching the meaning.
"Oh, I 'm glad you do," sighed Buck with relief. "Now as long as you ain't sufferin' no hallucernations, suppose you tell Ned to come in here. You need n't tell him—he knows it ain't, too."
"Knows what ain't?" demanded Jake, his fingers slowly ploughing through his mass of hair. "If I need n't tell him, what do you want me to tell him for?"
"Be calm, Jake, be calm," replied Buck, raising a warning finger. "There are two tells in this; one you must, th' other you need n't."
"Ah, go to h—l an' tell him yourself," retorted Jake, backing toward a handy chair so as not to be without a weapon.
"You tell Ned I want to see him—I 'll explain th' second tell later. Now—Will y'u tell?"
Jake backed into the kitchen, slammed shut the door behind him, and lost no time in getting to the bunkhouse.