"Damn hot," ejaculated Pink, stopping to hitch up his trousers, and then to spit on his hands before resuming his hoe.
"Mos' dinner time," returned Bud, looking up at the sun, and then over his shoulder towards the spring-betraying group of trees to which Melissa was accustomed to bring his dinner when he was working here. "They's some feller tyin' his horse in front of the cabin. Who is hit?"
Pink leaned on his hoe and squinted across the blazing field to the grove that sheltered von Rittenheim's house.
"Bob Morgan, Ah reckon. Looks like his horse."
"Come to get somethin' fo' Mr. Baron. O-oh, Bob!"
Bob looked around his horse's nose, and held up his hand in token of understanding. He unlocked the cabin and disappeared within, coming out again with a bundle, which he tied on to the saddle, and then led his animal towards the trees at the spring. The two laborers tossed down their hoes and moved to the same haven.
"What time is hit, Bob?"
Morgan looked at his watch.
"Five past twelve, Pink. Working hard?"
"Yep. Tol'able big crop." He sat down at the foot of a tree and opened his dinner-pail.