"Do yu know who that feller is?" Bud asked in a whisper as they made their
way to the table, from which came much laughter. "That's The Orphant,"
he added.

"Th' h--l it is!" said Jim. "Him? Him Th' Orphant? Tell another! I'm more
than six years old, even if yu ain't."

"That's straight, fellers!" said Bud to the assembled outfit in a low
voice. "I ain't kidding yu none, honest. I saw him up to Ace High last
year. That's him, all right. Wait 'til he comes in and see!"

"Well, I don't care if he's Jonah," responded Jim. "Only I reckons you're
plumb loco, all the same. But I'm too hungry to care if Gabriel blows if I
can fill up before these Oliver Twists eats it all up," he said, revealing
his last reading matter.

"He shore enough wears his gun plumb low--and the holster is tied to his
chaps, too," muttered Jim as he seated himself at the table. "So would I,
too, if I was him. Pass them murphys, Humble," he ordered.

"You has got to bust that piebald pet what you've been keeping around the
house to-morrow, Humble," exulted the man nearest to him. "And it'll shore
be a circus watching you do it, too!"

The blankets which divided the bunk house into two rooms were pushed aside
and The Orphan entered, carrying his saddle and bridle, which he placed
beside the others on the floor. Then he unbuckled his belts and hung
them, Colts and all, over the pommel, which was etiquette and which gave
assurance that the guest was not hunting anyone. Then he seated himself
at the table in a chair which Humble pushed back for him. His entry in
no degree caused a lull in the conversation.

"Well, you hasn't got no kick coming, has you?" asked Humble. "Hey,
Cookie!" he shouted into the dark gallery which led to the cook shack.
"Rustle in some more fixings for another place, and bring in the slush!"
Then he turned to his tormentor: "You has allus got something to say about
my business, ain't you, hey?"

"Sic 'em, Humble!" said Silent Allen. "Go for him!"

From the gallery came sounds of calamity and then a mongrel dog shot
out and collided with the table, glancing off it and under the curtain
in his haste to gain the outside world. A second later the cook, his
face fiendish, grasping a huge knife, followed the dog out on the plain.
Those eating sprang to their feet and streamed after the cook, yelling
encouragement to their favorite.

"Go it, Old Woman!" "'Ray for Cookie!" "Beat him out, Lightning!" and
other expressions met B