The Major and the others, except Joshua, had much to say about the afternoon's entertainment. Joshua didn't see anything except a great bank of clouds, and knew there had been a storm on the main range.
While we were at supper (and since we had ladies in company, the Major had improvised a table out of some boards which he picked up, using the wagon seats for supports), our table now decked with wild flowers, and the tin plates and cups presenting a brighter appearance, we had a call. Our visitor was a lank mortal in flannel shirt, blue cotton overalls, and the ordinary white felt hat of the country. He was not a cowboy, but "a hand" from a neighboring ranch, who had "hoofed it in last fall."
"Evenin'," was his salutation, with a nod, intended for all of us. "Bin campin' out, ain't ye? Had a good time, s'pose—lots o' fish and sech? Didn't see nothin' of a roan cayuse with a strip in face, up crick? No! been a-huntin' the darn brute since noon-time; branded 'J. K.' on his left hip."
"You'd better keep on, if you count on findin' him before night," hinted Joshua, shaking a flapjack in the frying-pan preparatory to a final turn.
"Stranger in these parts?" the visitor inquired of Joshua.
"Yes; been here a week."
"More'n that—I see you go up crick more'n two weeks ago. What's yer business?"
"Mindin' it."
"Mindin' what?"