ing most of the wall space, while the usual assemblage of bridles,
ropes, old hats, and garments, hanging from pegs, crowded the remainder.
Opposite the door stood a rusty, pot-bellied stove which gave forth a heat
that seemed rather superfluous on such a warm evening. The stocky fellow,
having leaned his branding-iron against the adobe chimney, was occupied in
closing the drafts. His two companions, both rolling cigarettes, stood
beside him, while lounging at a rough table to the left of the door sat
two other men, one of them idly shuffling a pack of dirty cards. As he
entered, Stratton was conscious of the intent scrutiny of all five, and an
easy, careless smile curved his lips.

"Reckon this is the bunk-house, all right," he drawled. "The lady told me
it was down this way. My name's Bob Green--Buck for short. I've just been
hired to show you guys how to punch cows proper."

There was a barely perceptible silence, broken by one of the men at the
table.

"Hired?" he repeated curtly. "Why, I thought Tex went to town."

"Tex?" queried Stratton. "Oh, you mean the foreman. The lady did say
something about that when she signed me up. Said she'd tell him about it
when he came back."

He was aware of a swift exchange of glances between several of the men.
The stocky fellow suddenly abandoned his manipulation of the stove-dampers
and came forward.

"Oh, that's it?" he remarked with an amiable grin. "Tex most always does
the hirin', yuh see. Glad to know yuh. My name's McCabe--Slim, they calls
me, 'count uh my sylph-like figger. These here guys is Bill Joyce an' his
side-kick, Butch Siegrist; likewise Flint Kreeger an' Doc Peters over to
the table. Bud Jessup yuh already met."

He chuckled, and Buck glancing toward the corner where the youngster was
tucking in the tails of his flannel shirt, smiled slightly.

"Got acquainted kinda sudden, didn't we?" he grinned. "Glad to meet you
gents. Whereabouts is a bunk I can stake my claim to?"

"This here's vacant," spoke up Bud Jessup quickly, indicating one next to
his own.

Buck stepped over and tossed his bundle into it. As he did so the raucous
clanging of a bell sounded from the direction of the ranch-house,
accompanied by a stentorian shout: "Grub-pile!" which galvanized the
punchers into action.

Stratton and the boy were the last to leave the room, and as he reached
the door Buck noticed a tiny wisp of smoke curling up from the floor to
one side of the stove. Looki