He began to unsaddle, and the Marquis, restored to equanimity, followed his example.  Rolling up his sleeves, Miss Sally sprang for the grub wagon, shouting:  “I’m the new cook b’thunder!  Some of you chaps rustle a little wood for a fire, and I’ll guarantee you a hot square meal inside of thirty minutes.”  Miss Sally’s energy and good-humor, as he ransacked the grub wagon for coffee, flour, and bacon, won the good opinion of the camp instantly.

And also, in days following, the Marquis, after becoming better acquainted, proved to be a cheerful, pleasant fellow, always a little reserved, and taking no part in the rough camp frolics; but the boys gradually came to respect this reserve—­which fitted the title Saunders had given him—­and even to like him for it.  Saunders had assigned him to a place holding the herd during the cuttings.  He proved to be a skilful rider and as good with the lariat or in the branding pen as most of them.

The Marquis and Miss Sally grew to be quite close comrades.  After supper was over, and everything cleaned up, you would generally find them together, Miss Sally smoking his brier-root pipe, and the Marquis plaiting a quirt or scraping rawhide for a new pair of hobbles.

The superintendent did not forget his promise to keep an eye on the cook.  Several times, when visiting the camp, he held long talks with him.  He seemed to have taken a fancy to Miss Sally.  One afternoon he rode up, on his way back to the ranch from a tour of the camps, and said to him: 

“There’ll be a man here in the morning to take your place.  As soon as he shows up you come to the ranch.  I want you to take charge of the ranch accounts and correspondence.  I want somebody that I can depend upon to keep things straight when I’m away.  The wages’ll be all right.  The Diamond-Cross’ll hold its end up with a man who’ll look after its interests.”

“All right,” said Miss Sally, as quietly as if he had expected the notice all along.  “Any objections to my bringing my wife down to the ranch?”

“You married?” said the superintendent, frowning a little.  “You didn’t mention it when we were talking.”

“Because I’m not,” said the cook.  “But I’d like to be.  Thought I’d wait till I got a job under roof.  I couldn’t ask her to live in a cow camp.”

“Right,” agreed the superintendent.  “A camp isn’t quite the place for a married man—­but—­well, there’s plenty of room at the house, and if you suit us as well as I think you will you can afford it.  You write to her to come on.”

“All right,” said Miss Sally again, “I’ll ride in as soon as I am relieved to-morrow.”

It was a rather chilly night, and after supper the cow-punchers were lounging about a big fire of dried mesquite chunks.

Their usual exchange of jokes and repartee had dwindled almost to silence, but silence in a cow camp generally betokens the brewing of mischief.