"Certainly wheels a mean chair," he said good-naturedly to Gilbert, as he
watched Uncle Henry steer himself out to the gate. "Got his cut-out open,
too! Pesky to-day, ain't he? That's one reason I came back." He spread his
legs apart, and fanned himself with his hat. He ran his fingers through his
thick, violent crop of hair. "A mean Arizona day!" he said. "The walk made
me hot."

"I should think it would," Jones replied.

"No grub yet?" "Red" ventured. He was hungry even yet. Twenty-two is always
hungry.

"No," said his employer.

"Should have been ready two hours ago. What's the matter? Wish we had Mrs.
Quinn over here."

"I don't know what's the matter. I haven't thought much about eating." He
was engrossed again in his papers.

But "Red" didn't intend to let the matter drop. "You're too easy on that
cook," he said. "Now, if you had a Mrs. Quinn--" He had pulled out a worn
tobacco-bag, which was discouragingly flat. He had smoked a lot this
morning.

Gilbert was swift to notice the empty pouch, and offered him his.

"Thanks; much obliged," "Red" said, filling his pipe. "But darn that cook,
anyhow! If he wasn't leavin', I'd fire him! As if you didn't have enough