“What’s your name?”
“David Scott. Billy and the others call me ‘Red.’”
“Got any folks?”
“No, sir.”
“Injuns wiped ’em out,” informed Sam the cook. “Remember?”
Hank nodded.
“Yes. All right,” he continued, in tone more kindly, to Dave; “you can help the cook to-night. In the morning you can go on herd, and see if you can hold the job. That red thatch ought to give you plenty of spunk, anyhow!”
“Yes, sir,” said Davy, encouraged.
Two herders came in for supper, leaving one on guard over the herd. They were rough-appearing men, and Davy and his red head had to take considerable banter and joking. He stood that well. He tried not to be “fresh” or impertinent; and when he didn’t know what he ought to say he said nothing and only grinned. After a while the men seemed to accept him as a pretty good kind of a boy. The fact that Billy Cody had vouched for him was a great help.
That night Davy slept on the ground again (as he had slept when with the wagon trains), rolled in his quilts, his saddle for a pillow. Breakfast was called before sunrise; and after breakfast he went out on herd.