“So was the drift,” said Mills
“What a chance for skiing!” Joe sighed. “Say, I’d like to spend a winter here.”
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” Mills suddenly said. “Makes me blue. The winters are too darn lonely. I see Popgun looks fat, and you’ve been groomin’ him, too. Where’d you get the curry comb? I don’t own one.”
“Made it,” Joe answered, “by punching holes with a nail through a tin box cover.”
“Can you ride yet?”
“Well, I can get around, without having to eat off the mantelpiece at night.”
“Want a job?”
“Sure, if it’s something I can do. You know, I’m a regular grafter now, just living off Spider. What is it?”
“Cooking mostly. Tastes to me as if you could do that,” the Ranger said, as he took a sip of Joe’s coffee, and a bite of the fried eggs and bacon Joe had also cooked for him, as they talked.
“I can cook all right—I learned that in the Boy Scouts,” Joe answered, eagerly. “Is it for a party?”