"That's a good horse you've got."

"Fair."

But Sam was the blithest spirit at the Malheur Agency. "Hiyah!" he
exclaimed. "Misser Dlake! How fashion you come quick so?" And the
excellent Chinaman took pride in the meal of welcome that he prepared.

"Supper's now," said Drake to his men. "Sit anywhere you feel like. Don't
mind whose chair you're taking--and we'll keep our guns on."

Thus they followed him, and sat. The boy took his customary perch at the
head of the table, with Brock at his right. "I miss old Bolles," he told
his foreman. "You don't appreciate Bolles."

"From what you tell of him," said Brock, "I'll examine him more careful."

Seeing their boss, the sparrow-hawk, back in his place, flanked with
supporters, and his gray eye indifferently upon them, the buccaroos grew
polite to oppressiveness. While Sam handed his dishes to Drake and the
new-comers, and the new-comers eat what was good before the old
inhabitants got a taste, these latter grew more and more solicitous. They
offered sugar to the strangers, they offered their beds; Half-past Full
urged them to sit companionably in the room where the fire was burning.
But when the meal was over, the visitors went to another room with their
arms, and lighted their own fire. They brought blankets from their
saddles, and after a little concertina they permitted the nearly perished
Uncle Pasco to slumber. Soon they slumbered themselves, with the door
left open, and Drake watching. He would not even share vigil with Brock,
and all night he heard the voices of the buccaroos, holding grand,