"Get those cattle, Dakota?"
Dakota shouted to Pink Eye before replying:
"Found a dozen or so."
"Far away?"
"Down toward the railway—east."
The cowboy busied himself pulling Pink Eye to an even keel.
"Funny thing happened," he said. "Spooky rider got through the night-hawks the first night and pretty near stampeded the bunch. General got a shot at him—a big fellow, the boys say, riding a devil of a broncho—but we couldn't find any trace of him when it got light.... We found some tracks though," he added slowly.
There was an appreciable period of silence before Dakota went on: "I got my eye peeled for him. He'll be bucking better shooting eyes than General's next time."
The whip cracked and the buggy rattled off to the stables. Stamford, peeping through the window, his cheeks in a lather, saw Cockney look after the retreating team a moment, then strike away to the stables.
Shaved and freshly clad in a white tennis shirt, Stamford emerged from his room and found Mary Aikens superintending the preparations for the night meal. Bean Slade was peeling potatoes, a big grin on his blushing face, and a large blue apron before him that Mary had insisted on tying under his chin. The cook from the ranch cook-house was mixing something on the table, while the mistress was diving into cupboards and shelves with the stores she had brought from town.