"Oh, about twenty, more or less," answered Melton. "In the busiest season
I usually take on a few more to help out, especially when I'm getting
ready to ship the stock.

"Pretty good set of fellows I have now," he went on as he led the way
toward the men's quarters. "Not a trouble maker in the bunch, except a
half breed that I'm not particularly stuck on, and that I'm going to get
rid of as soon as work gets slack. But take them all together I haven't
got any kick coming.

"Of course," he qualified as he stopped to light his pipe, "they ain't
what you could call angels, by a long shot. If any one's looking for
anything like that, they won't find it on a ranch. Some pretty rough
specimens drift out here from the East, who perhaps have had reasons for
making a quick getaway. But as long as a man does his work and does it
right, we don't ask any more about their past than they care to tell. It
ain't etiquette out here to do that, and then too it sometimes leads to a
man getting shot full of holes if he's too curious. Their language isn't
apt to be any too refined and their table manners leave a lot to be
desired. When pay day comes, most of their money goes to the saloons and
dance halls in the towns. They're usually a pretty moody and useless
bunch for a day or two after that. But in the main they're brave and
square and friendly, and they sure do work hard for their forty-five
a month and found. And if you get into a scrap they're a mighty handy lot
of fellows to have at your back."

By this time they had reached the bunk house. As its name implied, it
served as sleeping quarters for the men. It was a long one-story building
covering a large area of ground. All one end of it was partitioned off