"Well, durn my pictures," ejaculated Cal. "Throw a rope on that blaze-faced, lop-eared son of Israel with a pack on his back and let's see his brand. Guess you find them everywhere except in Jerusalem. Hello, Isaac; where's Abraham?"
"Who'd you mean, my brodder or my fadder? My name is Cohen, and I gome to make a locashun for a cloding store. Dis will be a fine blace for a town, und Cohen will be der bioneer merchant, ain't it?"
"Git out, you hook-nosed Jew; this is Injun reservation, and yer 'Uncle Sam' don't allow no storekeepers here, except his own pets!"
"What iss dot? I got no Ungel Sam; I got un Ungel Moses und Ungel Solomon, but no Ungel Sam. Ain'd dis a new town? Don' the shentlemans wand a negdie or hangerchief? I haf a"—but Jack and Cal had turned a deaf ear to the would-be "bioneer."
As Jack stepped around the trunk of a big pine the noose of a lariat circled around and settled over his head and arms; a short jerk and he was brought up standing. Cal looked on wonderingly, for at the other end of the rope sat a buckskin-clad cow-puncher mounted on a thoroughbred cow-pony.
"Now will you be good?" The bronzed face of "Happy Jack" broke into wreaths of smiles and happy laughter.
"Hello, Jack!"
"Hello yourself."
"Shake, old man—put her thar, Jack. Glad ter see yer. Never thought to see yer over here among the Utes."
"When did you leave Roaring Forks?"