“Miss Majesty, there’s another amazin’ strange thing sprung on me.  Hyars Jim Bell come to see you, an’, when I taxed him, sayin’ you was tolerable busy, he up an’ says he was hungry an’ he ain’t a-goin’ to eat any more bread made in a wash-basin!  Says he’ll starve first.  Says Nels hed the gang over to big bunk an’ feasted them on bread you taught him how to make in some new-fangled bucket-machine with a crank.  Jim says thet bread beat any cake he ever eat, an’ he wants you to show him how to make some.  Now, Miss Majesty, as superintendent of this ranch I ought to know what’s goin’ on.  Mebbe Jim is jest a-joshin’ me.  Mebbe he’s gone clean dotty.  Mebbe I hev.  An’ beggin’ your pardon, I want to know if there’s any truth in what Jim says Nels says.”

Whereupon it became necessary for Madeline to stifle her mirth and to inform the sadly perplexed old cattleman that she had received from the East a patent bread-mixer, and in view of the fact that her household women had taken fright at the contrivance, she had essayed to operate it herself.  This had turned out to be so simple, so saving of time and energy and flour, so much more cleanly than the old method of mixing dough with the hands, and particularly it had resulted in such good bread, that Madeline had been pleased.  Immediately she ordered more of the bread-mixers.  One day she had happened upon Nels making biscuit dough in his wash-basin, and she had delicately and considerately introduced to him the idea of her new method.  Nels, it appeared, had a great reputation as a bread-maker, and he was proud of it.  Moreover, he was skeptical of any clap-trap thing with wheels and cranks.  He consented, however, to let her show how the thing worked and to sample some of the bread.  To that end she had him come up to the house, where she won him over.  Stillwell laughed loud and long.

“Wal, wal, wal!” he exclaimed, at length.  “Thet’s fine, an’ it’s powerful funny.  Mebbe you don’t see how funny?  Wal, Nels has jest been lordin’ it over the boys about how you showed him, an’ now you’ll hev to show every last cowboy on the place the same thing.  Cowboys are the jealousest kind of fellers.  They’re all crazy about you, anyway.  Take Jim out hyar.  Why, thet lazy cowpuncher jest never would make bread.  He’s notorious fer shirkin’ his share of the grub deal.  I’ve knowed Jim to trade off washin’ the pots an’ pans fer a lonely watch on a rainy night.  All he wants is to see you show him the same as Nels is crowin’ over.  Then he’ll crow over his bunkie, Frank Slade, an’ then Frank’ll get lonely to know all about this wonderful bread-machine.  Cowboys are amazin’ strange critters, Miss Majesty.  An’ now thet you’ve begun with them this way, you’ll hev to keep it up.  I will say I never seen such a bunch to work.  You’ve sure put heart in them.”

“Indeed, Stillwell, I am glad to hear that,” replied Madeline.  “And I shall be pleased to teach them all.  But may I not have them all up here at once—­at least those off duty?”