The foreman was the first to pull up in front of the house. "Hullo, Uncle Jim!" he cried.
"Hello, Sage-brush," answered the Colonel, a broad smile illuminating his face. Holding his pipe in one hand, he licked his lips at the thought of "lickering up" without the invention of an excuse for his wife.
Then he joined in a hearty laugh with the men about the corral as he heard the grunts and stamping of a plunging mustang. A cow-pony had entered into the spirit of the occasion and was trying to toss his rider over his head.
Fresno was the victim of the horse's deviltry.
His predicament aroused wild shouts of mirth and sallies of the wit of the corral.
"Hunt leather, Fresno, or he'll buck you clean over the wall," shouted Sage-brush.
"Grab his tail," yelled Show Low, with a whoop.
"All over," was the chorus, as Fresno, with a vicious jab of his spurs and a jerk of the head, brought the animal into subjection.
"Come right in, boys!" called Allen. "Let the Greasers take the hosses."
With shrill shouts, whoops, and much laughter the guests crowded about the ranchman.