owns this brand."

"Oh--the 'Cheap Queen'!"

Bowers's head swung as though on a pivot.

"What did you say?"

"I've heerd that's what they call her."

Bowers's eyes narrowed as he answered:

"Not in my hearin'." Then he added: "Nobody can knock the outfit I'm
workin' for and eat their grub while they're doin' it. Sabe?"

"Don't know as I blame you," the stranger conciliated.

"I'll go cook," said Bowers shortly, getting up.

The stranger urged politely:

"Don't do nothin' extry on my account."

"I ain't goin' to," Bowers responded. "If we had some ham we'd have some
ham and eggs if we had eggs. Do you like turnips?"

"I kin eat 'em."

"My middle name is 'turnips,'" said Bowers. "I always cooks about a
bushel!"

The look that his guest sent after him was not pleasant, if Bowers had
chanced to see it, but since he did not, he was in a somewhat better
humor by the time he hung out of the wagon and called with a degree of
cordiality:

"Come and git it!"

The visitor arose with alacrity.

"Want a warsh?"

The stranger inspected a pair of hands that looked as if they had been
greasing axles.

"No, I ain't very dirty."

"Grab a root and pull!" Bowers urged with all the hospitality he could
inject into his voice, as the guest squeezed in between the table and
the sideboard. "Jest bog down in that there honey, pardner--it's
something special--cottonwood blossoms and alfalfy. And here's the
turnips!"

* * * * *

Conversation was suspended until a pan of biscuits had vanished along
with the fried mutton, when Bowers, feeling immeasurably better natured,
inquired sociably as he passed the broom:

"Where have I saw you before, feller? Your countenance seems kind of
familiar."

The stranger looked up quickly.

"I don't think it. I'm a long way off my own range."

He averted his eyes from Bowers's puzzled inquiring gaze and focused his
attention upon the business of extracting a suitable straw from the
politely tendered broom. When he had found one to his liking, he leaned
back and operated with a large air of nonchalance.

"You're fixed pretty comfortable here," he commented, as his roving eye
took in the interior of the wagon.

"'Tain't bad," Bowers agreed, prying into the broom for a straw that was
clean, comparatively.

"Is them all kin o' yourn?" The stranger pointed to a wire rack
suspended from a nail on the opposite side of the wagon in which was