"Why—he's good just to look at. I'd keep him just for that."
"And you can have him just for that—if you can manage to handle him.
Want to try?"
Bull shook his head. "I don't know nothing about horses," he confessed again. He glanced at the skeleton of standing beams. "Building a barn, eh?"
"You wouldn't call it pitching hay or shoeing a hoss that I'm doing, I guess," said the old fellow crossly. "I'm fussing at building a barn, but a fine chance I got. I get all my timber here—look at that!"
He indicated the stacks of beams and lumber around him.
"And then I get some men out of town to work with me on it. But they get lonely. Don't like working on a ranch. Besides, they had a scrap with me. I wouldn't have 'em loafing around the job. Rather have no help at all than have a loafer helping me. So they quit. Then I tried to get my cowhands to give me a lift, but they wouldn't touch a hammer. Specialists in cows is what they say they are, ding bust 'em! So here I am trying to do something and doing nothing. How can I handle a beam that it takes three men to lift?"
He illustrated by going to a stack of long and massive timbers and tugging at the end of one of them. He was able to raise that end only a few inches.
"You see?"
Bull nodded.
"Suppose you give me the job handling the timbers?" he suggested. "I ain't much good with a hammer and nails, but I might manage the lifting."