"From the ground up," chimed in Tubby, who had recovered from his assumed fit of the sulks, at the mention of the immediate prospect of a meal.
"It'll be great," was Merritt's contribution to the general chorus of approval.
"Very well, then. Blinky, you ride on ahead and tell Soapy Sam to cook us up a fine feed."
"With beans, sir?" asked Blinky in an interested tone.
"Of course. And if he has any T bone steaks, tell him we want those, too."
"Say, did you hear the name of that cook?" asked Tubby, edging his pony up to Merritt's, as the cow-puncher spurred off on his errand.
"Yes—Soapy Sam; what of it?"
"Oh, I thought it was Soupy Sam, that's all," muttered Tubby.
"Say, is that meant for a joke? If so, where is the chart that goes with it?"
But Tubby had loped off to join the cow-punchers, who with yells and loud outcries were getting the steers in motion.