Instead he left the bunk and walked quietly to
one of the farther chairs. The air of the bunk-house was already thick
with smoke from the stove and from cigarettes and pipes. Conniston
took out his own pipe, filled it, and, sitting back, added his smoke
to the rest.
The cook had turned to say something to Rawhide Jones, and, carelessly
putting his hand behind him, blistered it against the red-hot top of
the stove, whereupon he burst into such a volley of curses as
Conniston had never heard. The words which streamed from the big man's
mouth actually made Conniston shiver. He turned questioning eyes to
the other men in the room. They were again talking to one another, no
man of them seeming to have so much as heard. Rawhide Jones laughed at
the cook's discomfiture and went back to the door, where he washed his
face and hands at a little basin, plastered his wet hair down as his
companions had already done, and dropped into easy conversation with
the heavy, round-shouldered, yellow-haired man sitting across the room
from Conniston.
"Looks like the Ol' Man means real business, huh, Spud?"
Spud answered with a joyous oath that it certainly looked like it.
"He's puttin' Brayley in on this en' an' takin' ol' Bat Truxton clean
off'n it to throw him onto the Rattlesnake," Spud went on. "Bat 'll
have nigh on a hundred men down there workin' overtime before the
week's up, he says.
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