He turned to go but the cattleman stopped him in his second stride. His bluff had been called, for it would never do to go to a show-down—not unless he wanted a man's blood on his hands.
"Here! Wait a minute!" he cried impatiently. "I don't want to get you killed, so what's the use of talking? The only way for you to get to be a cow-puncher is to work up to it, the way everybody does. I'll give you a job as flunky at twenty a month and found, and if you make good I'll put you on for horse wrangler. How does that strike you?"
"Ah—what are the duties of a flunky?" inquired Bowles, cautiously and without enthusiasm. "You know, I'm quite content with your first proposal."
"Very likely," answered Mr. Lee dryly. "But wait till you see the horse. All a flunky has to do is to help the cook, wash the dishes, drag up a little wood, and drive the bed-wagon."
"It's very kind of you, I'm sure," murmured Mr. Bowles; "but I think I prefer the other."
"The other what?"
"Why, the other position—the job of cow-puncher."
"You don't think I'll let you ride that horse, do you?" demanded Mr. Lee sternly.
"Why—so I understood you."
The old cattleman snorted and muttered to himself. He had talked too much and that was all there was to it. Now he would have to make some concessions to pay for it.