The foreman had come down the river from the ranch at Meadow Creek, and the post, his goal, was Fort Washakie. All this part of the country formed the Shoshone Indian Reservation, where, by permission, pastured the herds whose owner would pay Lin his time at Washakie. So the young cow-puncher flung on his saddle and mounted.
“So-long!” he remarked to the camp, by way of farewell. He might never be going to see any of them again; but the cow-punchers were not demonstrative by habit.
“Going to stop long at Washakie?” asked one.
“Alma is not waiter-girl at the hotel now,” another mentioned.
“If there's a new girl,” said a third, “kiss her one for me, and tell her I'm handsomer than you.”
“I ain't a deceiver of women,” said Lin.
“That's why you'll tell her,” replied his friend.
“Say, Lin, why are you quittin' us so sudden, anyway?” asked the cook, grieved to lose him.
“I'm after some variety,” said the boy.
“If you pick up more than you can use, just can a little of it for me!” shouted the cook at the departing McLean.