"Did you see th' old boy?" he chuckled.
"Reg'lar friend of yourn," laughed Slim. "Here, shake han's with Nelson. He's comin' out to show us how to play draw—an' his pockets are full of money."
"Yo're welcome," said Cimarron, grinning, his hand-clasp solid and sincere. "Better put yore rope on him, Slim, in case he gets scared off."
Laughing and chatting they rode westward until about mid-afternoon when, hungry as wolves, they arrived at the bunkhouse, where Cimarron dared the sanctity of the cook shack to rustle warm, if rather dried-out food, from the back of the stove; and they ate to the frank and personal comments of several loafing onlookers. The rest of the afternoon was passed in discussions and reminiscences of things concerning range activities and in telling stories about men they had known. It was not long before other men began to come in from the range and the cook showed signs of activity. When he was ready he let out a yell: "Are you all a-comin'?" They were, and ate hungrily, for the most part in silence, listening to the three who had enjoyed a late dinner and who could take time to talk. Four men soon arose and exchanged banter as they looked to tobacco, guns, and other things requiring their attention and, saying good-by, went out to the corral. They had the first night shift on the west section and soon were riding away. Hardly two hours later another four-man group came in, fell upon the second meal the cook had prepared in less than three hours, and then loafed, joining in the conversation.
"How's things over Gunsight way?" Cimarron asked Johnny.
"Just th' same, I reckon," came the answer. "Everything is all right, a cussed sight better than they are further east. It's a shame, too; a cussed shame."
"Meanin'?" queried Lin Sherwood, the foreman, a tall, wiry man of about forty years, whose broad, sloping shoulders suggested great strength. His face was frank and kindly, and his steel-blue eyes twinkled from their frames of wrinkles in a manner to win Johnny the moment he had looked into them.
"I'm meanin' that old man with th' busted laig, over on th SV," answered Johnny; "an' that kid, an' that helpless girl. Do you know they ain't had no round-up in three years, neither calf nor beef?"
"What's that?" exclaimed Cimarron in surprise. "That ain't no way to run a ranch. Ain't they done no brandin' at all?"
"Ain't had an iron hot in three years," replied Johnny.