“Hey, Clem,” Rude shouted to the other end of the bar, “I got some poor sucker for you to abuse.” “Eah,” came the grunt from the dark face outlined in blue and red. “Don’t get sassy, Boyo.” “Well,” Rancher Clem growled in Chad’s direction, “get your kester over here if you’re so Dad Burned ready to work.”
Chad hustled down the bar studying the figure as he approached. Dust covered work clothes, grizzly stubble, dirt encrusted fingernails. This job is gonna be hell, he thought. But he took a quick swallow of beer and stuck out his hand. “Howdy, Sir. I’m Chad Steeple.” The old man cast a leery eye at Chad’s hand and turned back to staring into the mirror. “So you think you know cow, eh.” It was a challenge, not a question. “Yes, Sir,” Chad said, “And I’m a real quick learner if you want things done different.” “Eah,” Clem grunted again, “You’ll ride back with me. We’ll see if you’re up to snuff.”
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