CHAPTER VI
STEELE'S CACHE
"HAVIN' et your grub, Mr. Steele," observed Turk Wilson when at last his back was again to the big tree and his great bladed knife had returned to his pocket from its latest assault upon his slab of tobacco, "it would sure go against the grain if me an' Bill had to throw you off the ranch forcible. Let's talk."
"Mr. Wilson," responded Steele gravely and in the coin of Turk's own courtesy, "you are a man of parts. We'll talk."
He stretched himself out full length on the ground by the freshly replenished fire which cast its red, companionable glow upon three contented faces. With an elbow sunk in the short grass, his head propped up upon his palm, his pipe puffing slowly, he was in a softened mood and, like Turk, with no stomach for violent cross purposes. Bill Rice, squatting upon the heels of his heavy boots, treating himself to the dregs of the black coffee, nodded his pleasure in the amicable hour.
"To begin with then," continued Steele genially, "I have come to stay and I am going to stay for some little time. Furthermore, I have a perfect right to do so, without offering any explanations. But, because Bill Rice here is a mighty good friend of mine and because I want Turk Wilson for a friend, too, I am going to tell
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