“Hell’s fire,” said Joe Stallings, with infinite contempt, “there’s thousands of places to build a bridge, and the timber’s there, but the idea is to cut it.”  And his sentiments found a hearty approval in the majority of the outfit.

Flood returned late that evening, having ridden as far down the creek as the first settlement.  The Rebel, somewhat antagonized by the attitude of the majority, reported the visit and message left for him by young Slaughter.  Our foreman knew him by general reputation amongst trail bosses, and when Priest vouched for him as the builder of the Rush Creek bridge on the Chisholm trail, Flood said, “Why, I crossed my herd four years ago on that Rush Creek bridge within a week after it was built, and wondered who it could be that had the nerve to undertake that task.  Rush isn’t over half as wide a bayou as Boggy, but she’s a true little sister to this miry slough.  So he’s going to build a bridge anyhow, is he?”

The next morning young Slaughter was at our camp before sunrise, and never once mentioning his business or waiting for the formality of an invitation, proceeded to pour out a tin cup of coffee and otherwise provide himself with a substantial breakfast.  There was something amusing in the audacity of the fellow which all of us liked, though he was fifteen years the junior of our foreman.  McCann pointed out Flood to him, and taking his well-loaded plate, he went over and sat down by our foreman, and while he ate talked rapidly, to enlist our outfit in the building of the bridge.  During breakfast, the outfit listened to the two bosses as they discussed the feasibility of the project,—­Slaughter enthusiastic, Flood reserved, and asking all sorts of questions as to the mode of procedure.  Young Pete met every question with promptness, and assured our foreman that the building of bridges was his long suit.  After breakfast, the two foremen rode off down the creek together, and within half an hour Slaughter’s wagon and remuda pulled up within sight of the regular crossing, and shortly afterwards our foreman returned, and ordered our wagon to pull down to a clump of cotton woods which grew about half a mile below our camp.  Two men were detailed to look after our herd during the day, and the remainder of us returned with our foreman to the site selected for the bridge.  On our arrival three axes were swinging against as many cottonwoods, and there was no doubt in any one’s mind that we were going to be under a new foreman for that day at least.  Slaughter had a big negro cook who swung an axe in a manner which bespoke him a job for the day, and McCann was instructed to provide dinner for the extra outfit.