"A few ol' cows. They're my nephew's," said the other.
He squatted on a pile of bedding and engaged the cook in conversation. A close observer might have remarked that Dave was wary in his replies—at least, wary for Dave, who was accustomed to call a spade a damned shovel.
"How're the boys off for beddin'?" asked the visitor.
"Right scarce. These nights get right cold now, I can tell you."
"Somebody'll find room for me, don't you reckon?"
Dave considered a moment.
"You can sleep with me, Ben," he said finally.
When the boys rode in to supper, tired and quiet from a punishing day, the cook seized an opportunity to speak to the boss. Lafe was adding up figures in a tally-book on the rim of a wagon wheel.
"Say, Lafe," began the cook, "this here nester, Ben Walsh, that just come in—"
"Well?" said Johnson.