And what the boy ranchers said I leave you to guess.
Up the lane leading from the corral to the house came the hungry cow punchers, to wash the dust and grime from hands and faces, and then to eat with appetites that even a Triceratops might envy. And as they splashed at the washing bench, Slim raised his voice in what, doubtless, he intended for song and warbled:
"Leave me alone with a rope an' tobaccy,
Then let the rattlers sting!
Give me a sweet, juicy apple to chaw on,
Then when I'm sad I will sing."
There was a rattle of tin wash-basins, the swish of water as it was heaved at the singer, and then a howl of dismay from Slim.
"Take that soap out o' my mouth!" he bawled, and amid a chorus of laughter he ran around the corner of the porch, to escape the attentions of his jolly friends.
"Come on to grub!" sang out Bud, and no second invitation was needed. And while the boy ranchers are thus insured of at least temporary happiness, we will say, with the Spaniards:
"Adios!"