After breakfast Dr. Marshall, who had taken a fancy to Overland, strolled with him over to the bunk-house. Most of the men were on the range. Collie was assembling bits and bridles, saddles, cinchas, and spurs, to complete an equipment for the proposed camping trip in the hills. He was astounded at Overland's appearance. However, he had absorbed Western ideals rapidly. He was sincerely glad, overjoyed, to see his old friend, but he showed little of it in voice and manner. He shook hands with a brief, "How, Red!" and went on with his work.
Dr. Marshall, after expressing interest in the equipment, excused himself and wandered over to the corrals, where he admired the horses.
"Where did you get 'em?" queried Collie, adjusting the length of a pair of stirrup-leathers.
"These?" And Overland spread his coat-tails and ruffled. "Why, out of the old Mojave. Dug 'em up with a little pick and shovel."
"You said in your letter you found the claim."
"Uhuh. Almost fell over it before I did, though. We never found the other things, by the track. New ties. No mark. Say, that Billy Winthrop I writ about is the brother of them folks stayin' here! What do you think!"
"Wish I was out there with you fellows," said Collie.
"You're doin' pretty good right here, kiddo. The boss don't think you're the worst that ever came acrost, and I expect the ladies can put up with havin' you on the same ranch by the way they talk. Got a hoss of your own yet?"
"Nope. I got my eye on one, though. Say, Red, this is the best place to work. The boss is fine. I'm getting forty a month now, and savin' it. The boys are all right, too. Brand Williams, the foreman—"
"Brand who?"