“No, I didn’t say any of ’em had fallen so depressingly as that, but they’re that kind, I reckon. Catch the cattle rustlers! Oh, say, I’m glad I’m not in the habit of fainting.”
“That bald-headed bug isn’t so bad,” remarked Gimp.
“No, I reckon he’s a sort of keeper to ’em. Well, I should be anxiety. Give me the makings,” and he deftly rolled a cigarette from the bag of tobacco and the papers Gimp passed over to him.
“Anything happen while I was away?” Hinkee Dee next asked.
“No. The new ones sort of made themselves to home and they’re getting the run of the place. Maybe they’re not as green as they look.”
“Huh! Don’t talk to me! Tenderfoot sticks out all over ’em, Gimp.”
“I admit that. But they’ve been West before, accordin’ to their tell, and done some campin’.”
“With a hired cook I s’pose and a patent electric stove like the one in their car,” sneered the assistant foreman.
“No, the real thing they say.”