A horseman was galloping in from the herd; but part way he whirled, and went back again.
“That’s Hank Bassett, isn’t it?” asked Billy, keen eyed. “He’s a good one, Dave. He’ll treat you right if you don’t get fresh. Well, I reckon I’ll light out. I’ll leave you with Sam. See you later.”
He shook hands with Dave and climbed on his pony.
“Where you bound, Billy?” queried Sam.
“Going out again Thursday with Buck Bomer to Laramie.”
“Good luck.”
“Same to you,” replied Billy, and rode away. Looking back once, he waved his hand; Sam and Dave waved answer.
“Might as well unpack your mule an’ lay out your beddin’,” advised Sam, gruffly, to Dave. “Wouldn’t unsaddle yet, though. Wait till the boss comes in. Tie your mule to a wagon wheel.”
Davy promptly set about it; he unpacked his bedding, and tied his mule.
“If you’re not too busy,” quoth Sam, sarcastically, “you might fetch me in some more buffalo chips, if you can find ’em. There ought to be some, out a ways, if those blamed emigrants ain’t cleaned ’em up. It’s a wonder to me how far they’ll go lookin’ for fuel. Here, take a sack.” And he tossed an old gunny sack at Davy. “Jest pile ’em on it; don’t stop to stuff ’em inside.”