ounts, anyhow. It always did
make my back ache to lean over that old desk, and I'm glad to git
shent of it.

"Pretty swell rooms, ain't they? Notice them lace curtains? The
kangaroo rats have chawed the ends a little, but I tell you, when
Susie and Sallie Winship was here this was the finest house for forty
miles. That used to be Sallie's room, where you are now. Many's the
time in the old days that I've rid up here to make eyes at Sallie, but
the old lady wouldn't stand for no sich foolishness. Old Winship
married her back in St. Louie and brought her out here to slave around
cookin' for _roder_ hands, and she wanted her daughters to live
different. Nope, she didn't want no bow-legged cow-punch for a
son-in-law, and I don't blame her none, because this ain't no place
for a woman; but Sal was a mighty fine girl, all the same."

He shook a little flour over his dough, brushed the cat off the table
absently, and began pinching biscuits into the sizzling fat of the
Dutch oven, which smoked over its bed of coals on the hearth. Then,
hooking the red-hot cover off the fire, he slapped it on and piled a
little row of coals along the upturned rim.

"Didn't you never hear about the Winship girls?" he asked, stroking
the cat with his floury hands. "No? Well, it was on account of them
that the judge took over this ranch. Old man Winship was one of these
old-time Indian-fightin', poker-playin' sports that come pretty nigh
havin' their own way about everythin'. He had a fine ranch up
here--the old Dos S used to brand a thousand calves and more, every
round-up; but when he got old he kinder speculated in mines and loaned
money, and got in the hole generally, and about the time the sheep
drifted in on him he hauled off and died. I pulled off a big _roder_
for 'em and they sold a lot of cattle tryin' to patch things up the
best they could, but jest as everythin' was lovely the drouth struck
'em all in a heap, and when the Widde' Winship got the estate settled
up she didn't have nothin' much left but cows and good will. She
couldn't sell the cows--you never can, right after these dry
spells--and as I said, she wouldn't let the girls marry any of us
cowmen to kinder be man for the outfit; so what does she do but run
the ranch herself!

"Yes, sir--Susie and Sallie, that was as nice and eddicated girls as
you ever see, they jest put on overalls and climbed their horses and
worked them cattle themselves. Course they had _roder_ hands t