old bear with the rheumatism, grasped Steele's hand and said, "Howdy."
"If you boys haven't eaten," suggested Steele, "why not take chuck with me? I was just going to get a fire started."
"Sure," agreed Rice heartily. "If you got plenty?"
"You start the fire, Bill," said Steele, kneeling beside his saddle, his fingers busy with the thongs about his rod. "Open my roll of blankets and you'll find coffee and the Hibernian fruit and some flour and stuff. Give me ten minutes and I'll bring in the trout. There's the spot handy where I can get 'em any time, day or night."
"Go to it, Bill," retorted Rice. "I'm listenin'. … Ol' Bill Steele, by gravy!"
Then as Steele slipped away among the great boulders, seeking a pool whose memory had been a bit of treasure carried long, Bill Rice squatted on the ground and slowly a wide grin stretched his mouth.
"Orders to chuck a man off the ranch," he beamed upon his friend Turk Wilson, "an' that man turns out to be ol' Bill Steele. The son of a gun! Can you beat it, eh, Turk? Haw!"
Turk Wilson, content to watch Rice working with the blanket roll, made himself comfortable with his broad back to a tree and with big knotted hands set about cutting himself a chew from a slab of plug tobacco.
"Hurley tol' me we was lookin' for a man name of Steele mos'ly," he admitted slowly. Not a man given
