The surprised rancher looked around at the quiet group a little puzzled. Finally Fly gave Jerry a nudge, at which the latter collected himself as well as he could, and with something of a tremble in his voice, which seemed suddenly weak and faint, he began what he had planned to make a very grand speech.
"Mr. Phipps," he said, his cheeks growing rapidly redder and hotter, while his knees shook, "we—we—we all want to thank you very much for—"
"Oh, forget it," entreated the man, giving the relieved Jerry an affectionate pat on the back. "Why, you boys have nothing to thank me for. You're just like my own sons—you're Herb's playmates. Yuh see Herb hasn't any mother to—to—but I tell you, I like to have him associated with a fine lot of lads like you. Get into the house here, and we'll see if we can pick up some grub." The rough rancher spoke cordially, but there was a slight shake in his voice.
"We're always grabbin' fodder over here," apologized Fly, as they made for the dining room.
"And I guess we're here with our appetites to-day," put in Dunk. "That was a fine tramp for a hungry fellow."
"Well, go to it."
"Lose any sheep lately?" asked Dunk, as the usual hearty meal progressed, or rather disappeared.
"They haven't bothered us since Sunday night," responded Phipps. "About time for something to be doing."
"I've got to get back early this afternoon and go to work," said Fly, when they arose from the table—"filled to the eyes," to use Gray's words.
"Guess we'd better go back," said Jerry.