So at last they returned to their own tent, to the yarn-spinning threshers and the silent old cowpuncher.
Whitey soon gave up this form of effort, but Injun did not; possibly because Dorgan was in the other tent.

Friday night came, almost the last of the threshing.

Injun was absent on his eavesdropping quest, which so far had yielded nothing.

The men in Whitey's tent were merrier than usual and, it must be admitted, more profane.

Then along came bad luck, in the person of Mrs.Gilbert Steele.
Mrs.Steele, you must know, was one of these motherly women who didn't have anything to mother.