He always did look to me like he was built for herding sheep more than he was for cooking." This was in August.
"I have been thinking seriously of getting some one else in his place," Dill answered, in his quiet way.

"There isn't very much to do here; if some one came who would take an interest and cook just what we wanted--I will own I have no taste for that peculiar mixture which Sandy calls 'Mulligan,' and I have frequently told him so.

Yet he insists upon serving it twice a day.

He says it uses up the scraps; but since it is never eaten, I cannot see wherein lies the economy." "Well, I'd can him and hunt up a fresh one," Billy repeated emphatically, looking with disapproval into his cup.
"I will say that I have already taken steps toward getting one on whom I believe I can depend," said Dill, and turned the subject.
That was the only warning Billy had of what was to come.

Indeed, there was nothing in the conversation to prepare him even in the slightest degree for what happened when he galloped up to the corral late one afternoon in October.