In the meantime, Mr. Steptoe was explaining many things to Miss Campbell regarding the rounding up of cattle and life on the plains.
“There are no more real cowboys,” he said, “except in the Buffalo Bill Show. They are passing out. Barney here is about as good a representative of the class as there is.”
“And Tony,” suggested Barney.
“Tony is a good imitation but he’s not the real thing because he wasn’t born to it. Was you Tony?”
The man named Blackstone frowned.
“Birth has nothing to do with it,” he answered, and quickly changed the subject.
“He’s the younger son of an English lord,” whispered Steptoe, “but he don’t like to have it mentioned.”
It was rather surprising on the whole to see how polite these rough men were. Following Tony’s example, they stood up when the ladies filed out of the room, led by Rosina Steptoe.
Bedrooms in the Steptoe rancho were not luxurious apartments by any means. There were no bathrooms and only small ewers of water supplied the wants of the guests.
“I feel as if I had the yellow jaundice,” exclaimed Nancy, as she critically examined her features in a small wooden framed mirror back of the washstand. There was no dressing table.