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Updated: June 5, 2025
He wheeled and would have stepped back to reply had not Knowles spoken to him from the darkness at the end of the porch: "This way, Ashton. Kid is waiting to show you to the bunkhouse. You'll find a clean bunk and new blankets. I've also issued you corduroy pants and a pair of leather chaps from the commissary. Those city riding togs aren't hardly the thing on the range.
Meanwhile Ma Bailey busied herself preparing supper, and it was evident to the boys in the bunkhouse that Ma had something on her mind from the sounds which came from the kitchen.
Norton was somewhere in the house and Norton had gone down to the bunkhouse for a talk with the men Hollis and Nellie could see him, sitting on a bench in the shade of the eaves, the other men gathered about him. Below the broad level that stretched away from the ranchhouse sank the big basin, sweeping away to the mountains.
But at last the journey came to its end; and at six o'clock the Royal Mail with its bruised and famished passengers swung into the yard at Forbie's, the halfway house, fifty miles from Prince George. Garth had learned that the men slept in an outside bunkhouse, while the women were received into the farmhouse itself. He hastened to interview Mrs.
"I was puttin' in a heap of my time settin' in the doorway of the bunkhouse, wonderin' what had made you so scared of me. While I was tryin' to figure it out I saw Lawson comin'. There was somethin' in his actions which didn't jibe with my ideas of square dealin', an' so I kept lookin' at him. An' when I saw him prowlin' around, tryin' to open doors an' windows, why, I just naturally trailed him.
His tall figure appeared first at the corral gates, and his long legs were the first astride a horse. While the others were running hither and yon near the bunkhouse and the corral, Shorty raced his horse to the ranchhouse, slid off and crossed the wide porch in two or three leaps. He was confronted at the door by Mrs. Lawler, ashen, trembling.
I gone up my trade selling Pink's Patent Pills To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills." "I wish to Gawd you'd stayed there," said Jimmie, the Bar S cook, pausing in his march past to poke his head in at the bunkhouse doorway. "Honest, Racey, don't you ever get tired of yell-bellerin' thisaway?" Racey Dawson, standing in front of the mirror, ceased not to adjust his necktie.
She was generous in her estimation of their worth and strove to enthuse over their many excellences, but to her irritation, suddenly realized that she was weighing them all against a gray-eyed man in a fire-rent shirt, with smoke-grimed face and singed hair. She turned uneasily in her hammock, catching through the wistaria a glimpse of the open door of the dimly-lit bunkhouse.
The woman was carrying a lantern, and its fitful, bobbing glare marked the woman's progress as she moved toward the bunkhouse in which a light still burned. For an instant the light from the lantern disappeared, and then they saw it again as it bobbed toward the open where the herd had been when the rustlers had struck.
She stepped into the long, shed-like bunkhouse to speak to one of her acquaintances, and there, at the end of the plank table, partaking of a late supper that the cook had just served him, was no other than Dakota Joe Fenbrook, the erstwhile proprietor of the Wild West and Frontier Round-Up. Probably the ex-showman was not as surprised to see Ruth Fielding as she was to see him.
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