There fell a sudden silence in the bunk-house. Knives and forks ceased
their clatter while the cowboys turned interested eyes upon the
Easterner.

Conniston caught the unveiled threat in the foreman's tones, saw that
he had come in in the mood of a man ready to find fault, and took an
instinctive disliking for the man he was being paid a dollar a day to
take orders from. He returned Brayley's glance steadily, angered more
at knowing that the blood was again creeping up into his cheeks than
because of the curt question. And, staring at him steadily, he made
no further answer.

"Can't you talk?" cried Brayley, angrily. "Are you deef an' dumb? I
said, who might you be?"

"I heard you," replied Conniston, quietly. And to the man upon his
left, "Will you kindly pass me the bread?"

The man grinned in rare enjoyment, and, since he kept his eyes upon
Brayley's glowering face, it was hardly strange that he handed
Conniston a plate of stewed prunes instead.

"Thank you," Conniston said to him, still ignoring Brayley. "But it
was bread I said."

"An' I said something!" cut in Brayley, his voice crisp and incisive.
"Did you get me?"

"I got you, friend." Conniston put out his hand for the bread and