"Never mind. He's big, and he's grey. Send for him, and get the rest of the boys in here. They're around now for noon. Get every one. Understand? And make it fast."
In ten minutes they came to the office in a troop—rough men, smooth men, little and big, fat and thin, but good cattlemen, every one.
"Boys," said Drew, "a tenderfoot is coming to the ranch to-day. I'm going to play a few jokes on him. First of all, I want you to know that until the stranger leaves the house, Lawlor is going to take my place. He is going to be Drew. Understand?"
"Lawlor?" broke out several of them, and turned in surprise to a big, cheerful man—grey, plump, with monstrous white whiskers.
"Because he looks a bit like me. First, you'll have to crop those whiskers, Lawlor."
He clutched at the threatened whiskers with both hands.
"Crop 'em? Chief, you ain't maybe runnin' me a bit?"
"Not a bit," said Drew, smiling faintly. "I'll make it worth your while."
"It took me thirty years to raise them whiskers," said the cattleman, stern with rebuke. "D'you think I could be hired to give 'em up? It's like givin' up some of myself."
"Let them go, then. You can play the part, whiskers and all. The rest of you remember that Lawlor is the boss."