Suddenly the bow rested motionless.
A look of fear came into his face. He sprang up. The cowboys were all
stealing from the other side of the wagon. They had arrived and dismounted
without his hearing them. He sprang to his feet and began to stammer
apologies. Long Jim's hand was laid firmly upon his shoulders.
"Say, cookie, you don't need to look so scared. You ain't done nothing
wrong. Me and the boys, we like your music. Sing us another tune on that
fiddle!"
"I haven't neglected anything," Craig faltered. "It's all ready to serve."
"The grub can wait," Jim replied. "Pull the bow, partner, pull the bow."
The cook looked at him for a moment incredulously. Then he realised that
the cowboy was in earnest. He picked up the bow and commenced to play
again. They sat around him, wondering, absolutely absorbed. No one even
made a move towards the food. It was Craig who led them there at last
himself, still playing. Long Jim threw his arm almost caressingly around
his shoulder.
"Say, Cookie," he began, "there ain't never no questions asked concerning
the past history of the men who find their way out here, just so long as
they don't play the game yellow. Maybe you've fitted up a nice little hell
for yourself somewhere, but we ain't none of us hankering to know the
address. You're white and you're one of us and any time any guy wants to
charge you rent for that little hell where you got the furniture of your
conscience stored, why, you just let us settle with him, that's all.
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