Oscar Johnson was left in charge. The giant Swede, who dwarfed that little office, nodded solemnly when Henry said they were going to the ranch.
“Ay vill run it, Hanry,” he said, “and Ay hope Tames Vadsworth Longfeller Telly comes ha’ar. Ay have bone to pick vit him.”
“What bone is that, Oscar?” asked Henry.
“His,” replied Oscar blandly.
There was nothing ornate about the JHC ranchhouse. The old frame house tilted west, while the front porch tilted east, and the railing around the porch sagged to the north. Frijole had a mulligan stew on the stove, and more of his devil’s brew in a jug.
Thunder and Lightning Mendoza, two of Henry’s general helpers, sprawled on the shady side of the house. “Henry don’t need those two any more than he needs shoe-laces for a boot,” Judge had said.
“I love every bit of ivory in their unused heads,” declared Henry. “They amuse me.”
Henry looked them over soberly. He loved to question them as to just what they had done for the past week. Lightning seemed to be the more intelligent of the two.
“Oh, we feex the corral,” he said expansively. “Put out ol’ fence-pos’, leave een a new ones. Cut leetle wood. Ver’ busy pippil.”