Bud Lee, horse foreman of the Blue Lake Ranch, sat upon the gate of
the home corral, builded a cigarette with slow brown fingers, and
stared across the broken fields of the upper valley to the rosy
glow above the pine-timbered ridge where the sun was coming up. His
customary gravity was unusually pronounced. "If a man's got the
hunch an egg is bad," he mused, "is that a real good and sufficient
reason why he should go poking his finger inside the shell? I want
to know " Tommy Burkitt, the youngest wage-earner of the outfit and
a profound admirer of all that taciturnity, good-humor, and quick
capability which went into the make-up of Bud Lee, approached from
the ranch-house on the knoll. "Hi, Bud " he called. "Trevors wants
you. On the jump."
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