"I'll write to Mr. Mitchon, and tell him of your promotion to camp cook," called Masseth, laughing as Roger rode away.
On arriving at the camp and giving his message to the cook, the latter readily agreed to help for a few days.
"I'll go at once," he said, "the teamster should be back to-morrow, and while things are running pretty short, I guess you'll have enough to hold out."
The following morning early, after having told Roger everything he was to look after, the cook started for the side camp to take Roger's place, while the latter looked after the camp. Long and weary seemed the morning to the boy, so inactive it was after the strenuous life he had been leading for some weeks, and, though the teamster usually got in before noon, when evening came he had not arrived. Roger, who had counted on the cook's knowledge of the teamster's time, found himself almost without food for supper, and made a very light repast. He was just about to turn in for a sleep, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs and went out to greet the teamster.
"Is that you, Jim?" he called out.
"Guess not, pardner," answered a strange voice, and a cowman loped into the circle of light. "This here a United States camp?" he queried.
"Yes," answered the boy.
"An' who's running the shebang?"
"I am just at present," Roger answered. "But I expected the teamster here to-day."
"You are? No offense, but you don't look more'n a yearling. Well, it's not so worse to brand 'em young."