A harried-looking woman with bright red hair standing out from her head in wild, untamed curls opened the door at Ike's knock, as he snatched the hat from his head. "You're late," she said, not unkindly. "Go on to the corral, Mr. 'spoon's gonna take ya in hand straight off, see if you can handle the job." Ike looked around hesitantly, and Emma snapped, "Well, cat got your tongue? I said get, if you ain't got anything to say, then head on over, Mr. 'spoon'll have a heap to teach you, if'n I don't miss my guess, and I've got my hands full getting your victuals and the bunkhouse ready for y'all. Now shoo."

The woman flashed a kind smile but shut the door abruptly. Ike stood helplessly on the porch, not sure what to do. Buck was supposed to meet him here and he was even later than Ike, but he didn't know how to make this stern-seeming lady understand to tell Buck he'd arrived, when Buck showed up. To his relief, Buck rode up just then and Ike waved to him to follow over to the corral.

*You sure picked a great day to be late. Our first day.*

"Couldn't help it, Ike. I wanted to go back to tell my brother where I'd be working now."

*Well, if we are late, you may not have a job after all.*

"Shh," Buck said unnecessarily to his silent friend, as they approached the corral and a line of boys trying to look as tough and unconcerned as possible, leaning against the fence. Buck eyed the ones who'd already arrived: a nervous-looking younger boy with glasses, a tall young man with a pair of gunfighting pistols strapped around his waist, another with an enormous rifle by his side and a slightly self-satisfied look in his blue eyes, and a silent one dressed all in buckskins who kept his face expressionless and his gaze on the ground. Buck sighed, wondering if they would be any friendlier than they looked. He knew he and Ike could take anything the other boys dished out, if necessary, but he hoped that this wouldn't end up being like that, like the orphanage and several of the other places he and Ike had wandered since leaving it.

Ike looked around for this "Mr. 'spoon" that the lady at the house had spoken of. These were all boys like him and Buck, and they all had their eyes fixed on the horse trough, with varying degrees of disbelief and disgust on their faces.

"The boss comin' soon?" Buck asked, finally.

"He's been under there for near on three minutes," the young man dressed in a black shirt and black hat next to him answered, nodding toward the trough.

"In the horse's trough?" Buck asked, confused.

"He's takin' a bath," the other boy answered, grimacing.

"And washin' his long johns at the same time," the boy with the rifle said, distastefully, brushing off his immaculate fringed coat and straightening his colorful wampum-bead belt.

"Just grateful he's keeping his clothes on," muttered the small boy, so softly that Buck almost missed it.

Buck noticed that the last one kept silent, and they stood waiting as the bubbles finally started breaking the surface and the grizzled man underneath sat up, wiped his face with the horse's tail hanging over the trough, and began rubbing bear grease into his armpits.

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