Brill Healy, boss of the rodeo by election, was in charge. He was an
expert handler of cattle, one of the best in the country. It was his
nature to seek the limelight, though it must be said for him that he
rose to his responsibilities. The owners knew that when he was running
the round-up few cattle would slip through the net he wound around them.

"Hello, Brill!" shouted the young man as he rode up.

"Hello, son! Too bad about the fire. I'll want to hear about it later.
Looking for a job?" he flung hurriedly over his shoulder. For he had not
even a minute to spare.

"I reckon."

Phil did not wait to be assigned work, but joined the calf branders.

Not until night had fallen and they were gathered round in a semicircle
leaning against their saddles did Phil find time to tell the story of
the fire. There was some haphazard comment when he had finished, after
which Slim spoke.

"So the nester hauled you out. Ce'tainly looks like he's plumb game. You
said he was afire when he got you into the open, didn't you, Phil?"

The boy nodded. "And all in. He fainted right away."

"With him still burning away like the doctor's fire there," murmured
Healy ironically, with a slight gesture toward the cook.