"Oh, he kin cook now, all right." replied Waffles.
"That's about all he can cook. Useter wash his knives in th' coffee
pot an' blow on di' tins. I chased him a mile one night for leavin'
sand in th' skillet. Yu can have him-I don't envy yu none whatever.
"He don't sand no skillet when little Tenspot's around," assured
that person, slapping his holster. "Does he, Lefty?"
"If he does, yu oughter be lynched," consoled Lefty.
"Well, so long," remarked Frenchy, riding off to a small store,
where he bought a cheap sombrero.
Frenchy was a jack-of-all-trades, having been cow-puncher,
prospector, proprietor of a "hotel" in Albuquerque, foreman of a
ranch, sheriff, and at one time had played angel to a venturesome but
poor show troupe. Beside his versatility he was well known as the man
who took the stage through the Sioux country when no one else
volunteered. He could shoot with the best, but his one pride was the
brand of poker he handed out. Furthermore, he had never been known to
take an unjust advantage over any man and, on the contrary, had
frequently voluntarily handicapped himself to make the event more
interesting. But he must not be classed as being hampered with self-
restraint.
His reasons for making this trip were two-fold: he wished to see
Buck Peters, the foreman of the Bar-20 outfit, as he and Buck had
punched cows together twenty years before and were firm friends; the
other was that he wished to get square with Hopalong Cassidy, who had
decisively cleaned him out the year before at poker.
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