CHAPTER TWO
CONVINCING A COOK
I'm as wild as any comet when I first swing out o' my regular orbit, an' I rode on an' on, sometimes puttin' up for the night at a ranch house an' sometimes campin' out in the open, where I'd lay till dawn gazin' up at the stars an' wonderin' how things were goin', back at the Diamond Dot. I mooned on until at last I wound up in the Pan Handle without a red copper, an' my pony sore footed an' lookin' like what a crow gets when the coyotes invite him out to dinner.
I drew rein one night along side a most allurin' camp fire. I had noticed the herd when I came along in, an' they was dandies; big solid five-year-olds, hog fat, but they wasn't contented—kept fidgetin' around. When I struck the fire, a fair haired young feller was readin' a book, two Greasers an' a half blood Injun was playin' poker with an old bunch o' whiskers 'at wasn't a ridin' man at all while the cook had turned in without washin' the dishes.
"If anybody's at home," sez I, "I'd like to ask permission to set down an' rest."
"Why, certainly, make yourself at home," sez the fair hair. The balance o' the bunch only give me the side eye.
"Would you need any more help?" I asked, most respectful.
"No, thank you," sez the young feller, "I think we'll make it all right."
"You have a nice bunch here," sez I, "an' I thought perhaps you might want to get 'em to market in good shape. I am referrin' to the cows"—I continued, kind o' takin' the cover off my voice.
"We expect to get them to market in good shape," sez the fair-hair, uncoilin' his dignity. I rolled a cigarette.