A moment later their talk was interrupted by Charley Powell, who, slapping Jack vigorously on the back, told him to take off his saddle and turn his horse loose, for he was going to take the horses over and turn them into the cávaya. Jack unsaddled and let his horse go, and then Hugh said to him:
"Go get your supper now, and after you've eaten, or while you're eating, come out here and set down. I want to see you and talk to you, even if your mouth is full and you can't talk to me."
Jack hurried to the cook's tent and presently returned with a plate heaped high with food, and a cup of coffee brimming over, so that the steaming fluid dripped from it at every step. He sat down and began to eat, while Hugh, whose pipe was now going well, began to talk.
"Well, son, you've surely growed a heap since we saw each other last. You're taller now, I reckon, than I am; but you ain't nigh so thick; the fact is, it looks as if it was about time for you to stop growing long, and begin to grow broad, but then I reckon there's time enough for that, maybe. Do you remember that last trip we made, when we went up over the ice in those high mountains in the main range? Do you remember the time Tony Beaulieu and his partners shot holes in the tent? And do you remember that Indian that stopped us over by the crossing of St. Mary's River and wanted whisky?"
"You bet I remember it all, Hugh," said Jack; "but I think what I remember best of all is the way you held Tony Beaulieu and how he burst out crying when he couldn't get away; and the way old Calf Robe quirted those Indians that had stopped us."
"Yes, that sure was a good trip," replied Hugh; "but, then, I don't know as it was better than a whole lot of other trips we made. That first time, when we went up to the Piegan country, when you counted a coup, and you and Joe found that sack of gold; that must have been a dandy trip for you, because you were so much younger, and because everything that you saw was new and strange and exciting.
"Now this summer you're going to have a mighty quiet time, I reckon, with plenty of hard work; nothing to see, except ride circle, getting in at night feeling as if your feet belonged a yard apart; then maybe going out on night herd, and serenading these cattle, if a storm comes up and they get anyways uneasy. No, you can't expect to have much happen in a cow camp."
"Oh, I don't know, Hugh," laughed Jack; "there are lots of things that can happen out in this country yet. Of course, there's not much except hard work and grief that happens in a cow camp, and yet there's some excitement in riding and roping, and there's always a chance that we may run across a bear and have some fun with him."
"Well," Hugh replied, "the country is getting pretty quiet now. Maybe it's because I'm getting old, and maybe it's because I've seen a good many things happen, but I certainly don't get excited the way I used to."
By this time Jack had finished eating. Putting his things together, he carried them back to the cook's tent, and then returned to Hugh, and sat down close beside him.