Jimmy smiled foolishly.
“I kinda wanted to be a cowpuncher,” he confessed, lapsing into the dialect easily.
“Yuh do, eh?” Bonnette smiled. “That’s quite an ambition, don’tcha think? Forty a month, and feed. Yo’re educated, Legg. I don’t sabe why yuh want to be a puncher.”
“I’ve got a reason, Mr. Bonnette.”
“Some girl dare yuh to be a cowboy?”
“There’s a woman in the case,” confessed Jimmy.
Bonnette grunted softly and helped himself to a liberal chew of tobacco.
“I thought as much,” he grinned. “Well, you ain’t—yet. I’m full-up on hired hands right now, Legg. It’ll soon be round-up time, and yuh might come in handy.
“It’ll mean a —— of a lot of hard work. I can’t pay yuh a cowpuncher’s wages, because yuh don’t sabe the work well enough to earn it; but I’ll pay yuh half-salary. It’ll sure as —— be an education to you, if yuh want to be a puncher. But I’m —— if I know why yuh want to.”
“Thanks,” smiled Jimmy. “Johnny Grant asked you to do this, didn’t he?”