It was a scene of such wild and picturesque interest as
can only be witnessed in the western ranching country. About the fire,
most of them wearing "shaps" and all of them wide, hard-brimmed cowboy
hats, the men grouped themselves, some reclining upon skins thrown upon
the ground, some standing, some sitting, smoking, laughing, chatting,
all in highest spirits and humor. They had just got through with their
season of arduous and, at times, dangerous toil. Their minds were full
of their long, hard rides, their wild and varying experiences with mad
cattle and bucking broncos, their anxious watchings through hot nights,
when a breath of wind or a coyote's howl might set the herd off in
a frantic stampede, their wolf hunts and badger fights and all the
marvellous adventures that fill up a cowboy's summer. Now these were all
behind them. To-night they were free men and of independent means, for
their season's pay was in their pockets. The day's excitement, too, was
still in their blood, and they were ready for anything.
Bill, as king of the bronco-busters, moved about with the slow, careless
indifference of a man sure of his position and sure of his ability to
maintain it.
He spoke seldom and slowly, was not as ready-witted as his partner, Hi
Kendal, but in act he was swift and sure, and "in trouble" he could
be counted on.
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