“Shore well enough, but a little mad about the Cross Bar-8,” answered the other as he inhaled deeply and with much satisfaction. “He said there was some good coffee waiting for you to-night if you wanted it,” he added.
“Did he?” asked Blake, grinning his delight.
“Yes, and some–apricot pie,” added The Orphan wistfully.
Blake laughed: “Well, I reckon I’ve got some business over in town to-night, so you keep on going ’til you get to the bunk house. Tell Lee Lung to rustle the grub lively–I’ll be there right after you. Apricot pie!” he chuckled as he pushed on at a lope.
Jim Carter was washing for supper, being urged to show more speed by Bud Taylor, when the latter looked up and saw The Orphan dismount. His mouth opened a trifle, but he continued his urging without a break. He had seen The Orphan at Ace High the year before, when the outlaw had ridden in for a supply of cartridges, and he instantly recalled the face. But Bud was not only easy-going, but also very hungry at the time, and he didn’t care if the devil himself called as long as the devil respected the etiquette of the range. Besides, if there was to be trouble it would rest more comfortably on a full stomach.
“Give me a quit-claim to that pan, yu coyote,” he said pleasantly to Jim. “Yu ain’t taking no bath!”
“Blub–no I ain’t–blub blub–but you will be–blub–if yu don’t lemme alone,” came from the pan. “Hand me that towel!”
“Don’t wallow in it, yu!” admonished Bud as he refilled the basin. “Leave some dry spots for me, this time.”
Jim carefully hung the towel on a peg in the wall of the house and then noticed the stranger, who was removing his saddle.
“Howdy, stranger!” he said heartily. “Just in time to feed. Coax some of that water from Bud, but get holt of the towel first, for there won’t be none left soon.”