It was a long, low structure with a long table in the middle at which the men ate their meals. Around the sides were twenty or more bunks that furnished sleeping quarters. Everything about the place was simple and plain but scrupulously clean.
Most of the men had scattered long ago to their work about the ranch. The only ones in sight were Hank Thompson, their driver of the day before, who smiled in a friendly way at them as they passed, and a powerful, wiry man to whom Mr. Claxton was talking just outside the door of the bunk-house.
The ranch owner greeted them cordially and turned to the man with whom he had been talking.
"These are the young lads from the East I was telling you we expected, Bill," he said. "Boys, this is my foreman, Mr. Bixby."
The boys acknowledged the introduction, and Bill took the hand of each and squeezed it cordially in his great paw.
"I shore am glad to meet you youngsters," he grinned. "Mr. Claxton has told me to see thet you hev a good time while you're out here an' I'm goin' to do my best to give it to you."
The boys thanked him heartily.
"To begin with," said Mr. Claxton, "how would you boys like to have horses of your own to ride while you're here?" The boys gasped with delight, and Mr. Claxton smiled.
"Tell Hank to go down to the corral and bring the horses up here," he directed his foreman. "Have you boys ever had any experience in riding before?" he asked, when the foreman had gone to execute his mission.
They had to confess that outside of an occasional ride on one of the sedate old horses of Fairview that could hardly get up enough spirit to break into a trot, they had had no experience.