While the table was being arranged for supper, the cattle king concluded with Bob a bargain for nine bronchos, two to be used as pack horses.
"How about your provisions?" asked Mr. Irwin, finally.
"I suppose we'll have to get them in Rawdon," answered Bob.
"You'll do nothing of the sort." Mr. Irwin's tone was emphatic. "You know, with such a number of men to feed, we have to keep a well-stocked storehouse. I can let you boys have what is necessary." His laugh rumbled again. "Why—I might even make a profit out of the deal."
Bob smiled with satisfaction. Heartily thanking Mr. Irwin, he accepted the offer.
"Say, fellows!" he cried, raising his head.
"I tell you there's nothin' hard 'bout this broncho bustin'," came in Jack Conroy's voice. "It's easy—why, I remember the first time I got on a pony, Dick, I was nervous to beat the band. But now it's a hop, skip an' a jump. Eh—what's that, Bob—won't have to go to Rawdon for the grub?"
Bob's explanation brought forth a cheer, which made drowsy Dave Brandon sit up with a start.
They spent a jolly time at supper, and afterward there was more noise and fun in the big dining-room of the old ranch-house than its walls had echoed to in many years.
Cowboys related tales of the range; several of them who couldn't sing tried to, just the same; Bob gave a recitation, and Jack Conroy whistled what he declared to be an operatic air, causing most of his hearers to feel glad that it was his only selection. Mr. Irwin politely refrained from telling him that he was better at riding bronchos.