"But it gives the names," persisted Pete. "They wouldn't go as far as
that if it wasn't so. Let's see," he went on as his stubbed finger moved
slowly over the lines. "Here they are--Wilson, Trent, Henderson--say," he
exclaimed with a quick look at the boys, "ain't them the handles you
fellers carries?"

All eyes were fixed in astonishment on the visitors, who blushed as
though they had been detected in a fault. Their embarrassment carried
conviction. The paper was thrown aside and the men gathered about them in
a chorus of eager questionings. They made them tell in every detail the
story of the fight, which the boys tried to minimize as much as possible.

"And yer never said a word about it," commented Pete when they had
extracted the last scrap of information.

"Why should we?" retorted Dick. "As you said about the broncho busting,
it was 'all in the day's work.'"

They tore themselves away at last, leaving the cowboys grouped about the
door and looking after them with eyes from which the last vestige of
distrust and reserve had vanished.

"Not a maverick in the bunch," commented Pete.

"Every one of them carries the man brand," added Chip.

"They shore can warm their beans at my fire," concluded Buck.