"What makes you think we won't get them to market in good shape?" sez he.
"'Cause your cook's got a sour temper, an' the' ain't no one bossin' the job—'at knows how," sez I, mild an' open-faced, an' lookin' into the fire. The fair-hair straightens up with a snort, while the pot-openers begin to cuss sort o' growly.
"Where are you from an' how long have you been making my business your own?" asked the fair-hair.
"Oh, I come from up no'th a ways; but I ain't ever made your business mine. I never saw your outfit until twenty minutes ago—but I've seen other outfits."
"Can you handle cattle?" sez he.
"Yes," sez I—"and men."
"Well, I think you can join us," sez he, kind o' slow. "The cattle don't seem to be as gentle as they did when we started. I think it is because we are short handed and have to be a little too rough with them." I didn't answer.
"Well, do you want the job?" sez he.
"Who's the foreman?" sez I.
"I am in charge," he answers stiff like.