"I don't call that much of a song," sniffed Chunky contemptuously after a moment of silence on the part of the group. "Even if I can't sing, I can beat that."
"Better not try it out on the range," smiled the foreman.
"Not on the range? Why not?" demanded the boy.
"Bob thinks it might stampede the herd," spoke up Big-foot Sanders.
A loud laugh followed at Chunky's expense.
"When you get to be half as good a man on cows as your friend the Pinto, here, you'll be a full grown man," added Big-foot. "The Pinto rounded up a bunch of stray cows to-night as well as I could do it myself, and he didn't go about it with a brass band either."
The foreman nodded, with an approving glance at Tad.
Tad's eyes were sparkling from the experiences of the evening, as well as from the praise bestowed upon him by the big cowpuncher.
"The pony did most of it," admitted the lad. "I just gave him his head, and that's all there was to it."
"More than most tenderfeet would have done," growled Big-foot.