cattered the cattle, and we've had to rake the brush for forty mile.
I need a new coffee-pot. And the mosquitos is some more hellish than
common."

"The boys--all well?"

Pete was no optimist. Besides, inquiries concerning the health of cow-
punchers were not only superfluous, but bordered on flaccidity. It was
not like the boss to make them.

"What's left of 'em don't miss no calls to grub," the cook conceded.

"What's left of 'em?" repeated Raidler in a husky voice. Mechanically
he began to look around for McGuire's grave. He had in his mind a
white slab such as he had seen in the Alabama church-yard. But
immediately he knew that was foolish.

"Sure," said Pete; "what's left. Cow camps change in two months.
Some's gone."

Raidler nerved himself.

"That--chap--I sent along--McGuire--did--he--"

"Say," interrupted Pete, rising with a chunk of corn bread in each
hand, "that was a dirty shame, sending that poor, sick kid to a cow
camp. A doctor that couldn't tell he was graveyard meat ought to be
skinned with a cinch buckle. Game as he was, too--it's a scandal among
snakes--lemme tell you what he done. First night in camp the boys
started to initiate him in the leather breeches degree. Ross Hargis
busted him one swipe with his chaparreras, and what do you reckon the
poor child did? Got up, the little skeeter, and licked Ross. Licked
Ross Hargis. Licked him good. Hit him plenty and everywhere and hard.
Ross'd just get up and pick out a fresh place to lay down on agin.

"Then that McGuire goes off there and lays down with his head in the
grass and bleeds. A hem'ridge they calls it. He lays there eighteen
hours by the watch, and they can't budge him. Then Ross Hargis, who
loves any man who can lick him, goes to work and damns the doctors
from Greenland to Poland Chiny; and him and Green Branch Johnson they
gets McGuire into a tent, and spells each other feedin' him chopped
raw meat and whisky.

"But it looks like the kid ain't got no appetite to git well, for they
misses him from the tent in the night and finds him rootin' in the
grass, and likewise a drizzle fallin'. 'G'wan,' he says, 'lemme go and
die like I wanter. He said I was a liar and a fake and I was playin'
sick. Lemme alone.'

"Two weeks," went on the cook, "he laid around, not noticin' nobody,
and then--"

A sudden thunder filled the air, and a score of galloping centaurs
crashed through the brush into camp.

"Illustrious rattlesnakes!" exclaime