looking for work. The men had played their usual pranks, fortunately
with no serious consequences. But Bailey should have known better, and
she told him so that afternoon in the kitchen, while Pete slumbered
blissfully in the next room. "And he can help around the place, even
if it is slack times," she concluded.

That evening was one of the happiest evenings of Pete's life. He had
never known the tender solicitude of a woman. Mrs. Bailey treated him
as a sort of semi-invalid, waiting on him, silencing the men's
good-natured joshing with her sharp tongue, feeding him canned
peaches--a rare treat--and finally enthroning him in her own ample
rocking-chair, somewhat to Pete's embarrassment, and much to the
amusement of the men.

"He sure can ride it!" said a cowboy, indicating the rocking-chair.

"Bill Haskins, you need a shave!" said Mrs. Bailey.

The aforesaid Bill Haskins, unable to see any connection between his
remark and the condition of his beard, stared from one to another of
his blank-faced companions, grew red, stammered, and felt of his chin.

"I reckon I do," he said weakly, and rising he plodded to the
bunk-house.

"And if you want to smoke," said Mrs. Bailey, indicating another of the
boys who had just rolled and lighted a cigarette, "there's all outdoors
to do it in."

This puncher also grew red, rose, and sauntered out.