The superintendent of the Diamond-Cross was of the opinion that he could give them work.  In fact, word had reached him that morning that the camp cook—­a most important member of the outfit—­had straddled his broncho and departed, being unable to withstand the fire of fun and practical jokes of which he was, ex officio, the legitimate target.

“Can either of you cook?” asked the superintendent.

“I can,” said the reddish-haired fellow, promptly.  “I’ve cooked in camp quite a lot.  I’m willing to take the job until you’ve got something else to offer.”

“Now, that’s the way I like to hear a man talk,” said the superintendent, approvingly.  “I’ll give you a note to Saunders, and he’ll put you to work.”

Thus the names of John Bascom and Charles Norwood were added to the pay-roll of the Diamond-Cross.  The two left for the round-up camp immediately after dinner.  Their directions were simple, but sufficient:  “Keep down the arroyo for fifteen miles till you get there.”  Both being strangers from afar, young, spirited, and thus thrown together by chance for a long ride, it is likely that the comradeship that afterward existed so strongly between them began that afternoon as they meandered along the little valley of the Canada Verda.

They reached their destination just after sunset.  The main camp of the round-up was comfortably located on the bank of a long water-hole, under a fine mott of timber.  A number of small A tents pitched upon grassy spots and the big wall tent for provisions showed that the camp was intended to be occupied for a considerable length of time.

The round-up had ridden in but a few moments before, hungry and tired, to a supperless camp.  The boys were engaged in an emulous display of anathemas supposed to fit the case of the absconding cook.  While they were unsaddling and hobbling their ponies, the newcomer rode in and inquired for Pink Saunders.  The boss ol the round-up came forth and was given the superintendent’s note.

Pink Saunders, though a boss during working hours, was a humorist in camp, where everybody, from cook to superintendent, is equal.  After reading the note he waved his hand toward the camp and shouted, ceremoniously, at the top of his voice, “Gentlemen, allow me to present to you the Marquis and Miss Sally.”

At the words both the new arrivals betray confusion.  The newly employed cook started, with a surprised look on his face, but, immediately recollecting that “Miss Sally” is the generic name for the male cook in every west Texas cow camp, he recovered his composure with a grin at his own expense.

His companion showed little less discomposure, even turning angrily, with a bitten lip, and reaching for his saddle pommel, as if to remount his pony; but “Miss Sally” touched his arm and said, laughingly, “Come now.  Marquis; that was quite a compliment from Saunders.  It’s that distinguished air of yours and aristocratic nose that made him call you that.”