Supper was over at the Box R Ranch. From the tiny lean-to the muffled rattle of heavy table-ware proclaimed the fact that Ma Graham was putting things in readiness for breakfast. Beside the sheet-iron heater in the front room, her husband, carefully swaddled in a big checked apron with the strings tied in a bow under his left ear, was busily engaged in dressing the half-dozen prairie chickens he had trapped that day. As fast as he removed the feathers he thrust them into the stove, and the pungent odor mingled with the suggestive tang of the bacon that had been the foundation of the past supper, and with the odor of cigarettes with which the other four men were permeating the place.
Graham critically held up to the light the bird upon which he had just been operating, removed a few scattered feathers, and, with practised hand, attacked its successor.
"If I were doing this job for myself," he commented, "I'd skin the beasts. Life is too blamed short to waste it in pulling out feathers!"
Grannis, the new-comer from no one knew where, smiled.
"It would look to me that you were doing it," he remarked. "I'd like to ask for information, who is if you ain't?"
The clatter of dishes suddenly ceased, and Graham's labor stopped in sympathy.
"My boy," he asked in reply, "were you ever married?"
Beneath its coat of tan, Grannis's face flushed; but he did not answer.
A second passed; then the plucking of feathers was continued.
"I reckon you've never been, though," Graham went on, "else you'd never ask that question."
During the remainder of the evening, Grannis sought no further information; and to Ma Graham's narrow life a new interest was added.
Ordinarily the cowboys went to their bunks in an adjoining shed almost directly after supper, but this evening, without giving a reason, they lingered. The housekeeper finished her work, and, coming into the main room, took a chair and sat down, her hands folded in her lap. The grouse dressed, Graham ranged them in a row upon the lean-to table, removed the apron, and lit his pipe in silence. The cowboys rolled fresh cigarettes and puffed at them steadily, the four stumps close together glowing in the dimness of the room. As everywhere upon the prairie, the quiet was almost a thing to feel.
At last, when the silence had become oppressive, the foreman took the pipe from his mouth and blew a short puff of smoke.
"Seems like the boss ought to've got back before this," he said with a sidelong glance at his wife.
Ma Graham nodded corroboration.