Bud looked at the driver and then significantly waved his hand at the travois: “And you’ll shore travel in style, just like a real pie foreman, too, when we gets a chance to honor you like we wants to.”
“You’ll get no pie if you acts smart, little boy,” retorted the driver. “Run along and play till lunch is ready, and don’t dirty your hands and face.”
“Well, we’ve got fine memories,” Bud suggested as he led the way to the corrals, where he found The Orphan.
“Hullo, Orphan!” he cried enthusiastically as he gripped the outstretched hand. “Plumb glad to see you. How’s things?”
“Glad to see you, boys,” cried the temporary foreman, who was all smiles. “One at a time!” he laughed as they crowded about him. “Make yourselves right at home–that smallest corral is for your cayuses. And you’ll find plenty of soap and water and towels by the bunk-house, and there’s a box of good cigars, a tin of tobacco, and a jug on the table inside. Help yourself to anything you want, the place is all yours.”
“Gee, this is a good game, all right,” Bud laughed as he turned to put his horse in the corral. “The sheriff shore knows how to deal.”
“Leave a cigar for me, Silent,” jokingly warned Jim as his friend turned toward the bunk-house. “Too many smokes will make you sick.”
“Well, you’ve got a gall, all right!” retorted Silent. “You better let me bring yours out to you and keep away from the box, for I’m always plumb suspicious of these goody-goody, it’s-for-your-own-good people.”
A crafty look came to Jack Lawson’s face and he turned to The Orphan: “Has Bill Howland got his cigars yet?” he asked, winking at his friends.
“Why, I don’t know whether he has or not,” replied The Orphan. “But I don’t believe that he has been out of sight of the pies since he came. They’ve got him in a trance.”