"Count straight!" chuckled Andy. "Mebby I know more about how many's
here than Ma does."
Meanwhile Ma Bailey busied herself preparing supper, and it was evident
to the boys in the bunkhouse that Ma had something on her mind from the
sounds which came from the kitchen. Ma scolded the potatoes as she tried
them, rebuked the biscuits because they had browned a little too soon,
censured the stove for its misbehavior in having scorched the biscuits,
accused the wood of being a factor in the conspiracy, reprimanded the
mammoth coffee-pot that threatened to deluge the steak, and finally
chased Andy from the premises when she discovered that he had laid the
table with her best set of dishes.
"Ma's steamin' about somethin'," remarked Andy as he entered the
bunk-house.
This information was received with characteristic silence as each and
every cowboy mentally straightened up, vowing silently that he wasn't
goin' to take any chances of Ma b'ilin' over on him.
The clatter of the pack-horse bell brought the men to their feet and they
filed across to the house, a preternaturally silent aggregation that
confirmed Ma Bailey's suspicion that there was something afoot.
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