Two hours later he returned, driving two horses which were hitched to a
wagon of the "prairie-schooner" variety. The wagon was loaded with
lumber and sundry kegs, boxes and packages. Calumet's pony trailed it.
The puncher was still where Calumet had left him--apparently he had not
moved. But when he saw Calumet halt the horses in front of him and
jump out of the wagon he got to his feet. He met Calumet's gaze with a
sober, interested smile.
"That wagon of yours is speakin' mighty loud of work," he said. "Back
in Texas I used to be counted uncommon clever with a saw an' hammer.
If you can rassle them two statements around to look them in the face
you can see what I'm drivin' at."
"What do you think you are worth to a man who ain't got no authority to
do any hirin'?" said Calumet.
"Ain't you the boss?" said Dade, disappointedly.
"The boss is a woman. If you're wantin' to work you can come along.
You'll have to take your chance. Otherwise--"
"I'll go you," said the puncher. He threw his saddle into the wagon.
"You said somethin' about a drink," he added, "if you had anything
left. I'm hopin'--"
Calumet hesitated.
"Just one," said Dade. "Mebbe two. Not more than three--or four. If
your ranch is far--"
"Twenty miles."
"About two, then," suggested Dade.
Pages:
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117