A RANCHMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS 



As the lad ate, and refilled his plate and cup, the 

 cook ventured, "Son, you're plumb welcome, but 

 when did you eat last?" 



"Night before last," the boy replied. "The brakles 

 give me some bread and meat, but I sure was gittin 

 ready to eat when I smelt your grub cooking down 

 the road." 



"Where be you from, son?" 



"I'm from Virginia," came the reply, "and I'm 

 sure glad to get here, and get a job." 



"Virginia! A job?" exclaimed Scandalous. "How 

 did you get here, an' how do you know you kin get a 

 job?" 



Again that good-natured grin appeared as the lad 

 told his story. 



"I walked some, and rode with the brakles some; 

 they was mighty good to me, and give me a card to 

 other brakies; sometimes they'd give me food they 

 cooked in the caboose, and sometimes they took me 

 home. I told them I was coming to the big S. M. S. 

 Ranch to work. I worked on farms some, but hur- 

 ried as much as I could, to be here branding time. 

 Am I in time?" 



The quiet assurance of the boy staggered Scan- 

 dalous, but he recovered to ask, "How did you know 

 about the S. M. S. Ranch? What made you think 

 you could git a job? Ever done any cow work?" 



The lad's grin broadened as he answered: "Well, 

 a feller I worked for down In Virginia had one of 



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