The Project Gutenberg EBook of The HappyFamily, by Bertha Muzzy Bower

This eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You maycopy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the ProjectGutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.net

Title: The Happy Family

Author: Bertha Muzzy Bower

Release Date: October 7, 2004 [EBook#13670]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HAPPY FAMILY ***

Produced by Suzanne Shell, VictoriaWoosley and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

"A man's plumb crazy to go round

blatting all he knows"

The Happy FamilyBY

B.M. BOWER

(B.M. SINCLAIR)

AUTHOR OF

"Chip of the FlyingU," "The RangeDwellers," "HerPrairie Knight," "TheLure of the DimTrails," "TheLonesome Trail,""The Long Shadow,"Etc.

G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

1907, 1909, 1910, by STREET & SMITH.

1910, by G.W. DILLINGHAMCOMPANY.

The Happy Family.

To B.W.V.

" ...met the Ananiasof the cow camp. Ihave knocked aboutcow camps, mining

camps, railroad andtelegraph camps, andkicked up alkali dustfor many a wearymile on the desert.Yet wherever I went Inever failed to meethim. He is part andparcel of everyoutfit.... He isindispensable,irresistible, andincorrigible; andwhile in but fewcases can he be helda thing of beauty, heis certainly a joyforever—at least tothose who have

known his type withsome degree ofunderstanding...."

a letter.

CONTENTS.ANANIAS GREEN 7BLINK 35MISS MARTIN'S MISSION 61HAPPY JACK, WILD MAN. 90A TAMER OF WILD ONES. 118ANDY, THE LIAR 178"WOLF! WOLF!" 210FOOL'S GOLD 241LORDS OF THE POTS AND PANS 269

The Happy Family

ANANIAS GREENPink, because he knew well the countryand because Irish, who also knew it well,refused pointblank to go into it again evenas a rep, rode alone except for his horsesdown into the range of the Rocking R.General roundup was about to start, downthat way, and there was stock bought bythe Flying U which ranged north of theBear Paws.

It so happened that the owner of theRocking R was entertaining a party offriends at the ranch; it also happened thatthe friends were quite new to the West andits ways, and they were intensely

interested in all pertaining thereto. Pinkgathered that much from the crew, besidesobserving much for himself. Hence whatfollows after.

Sherwood Branciforte was down in theblacksmith shop at the Rocking R,watching one Andy Green hammer a spur-shank straight. Andy was what he himselfcalled a tamer of wild ones, and he washard upon his riding gear. Sherwood hadthat morning watched with muchadmiration the bending of that same spur-shank, and his respect for Andy wasbeautiful to behold.

"Lord, but this is a big, wild country," hewas saying enthusiastically, "and thepeople in it are big and—"

"Wild," supplied Andy. "Yes, you've justabout got us sized up correct." He went onhammering, and humming under his breath,and thinking that, while admiration is allright in its time and place, it is sometimesa bit wearisome.

"Oh, but I didn't mean that," the young manprotested. "What I meant was breezy andpicturesque. Things can happen, out here.Life and men don't run in grooves."

"No, nor horses," assented Andy."Leastways, not in oiled ones." He wasremembering how that spur-shank hadbecome bent.

"You did some magnificent riding, thismorning. By Jove! I've never seenanything like it. Strange that one can come

out here into a part of the countryabsolutely new and raw, and see things—"

"Oh, it ain't so raw as you might think,"Andy defended jealously, "nor yet new."

"Of course it is new! A commonwealth inthe making. You can't," he assertedtriumphantly, "point to anything man-madethat existed a hundred years ago; scarcelyfifty, either. Your civilization is yet in thecradle—a lusty infant, and a—er—vociferous one, but still an infant inswaddling clothes." SherwoodBranciforte had given lectures before theY.M.C.A. of his home town, and youngladies had spoken of him as "gifted," andhe had come to hear of it, and to believe.

Andy Green squinted at the shank before

he made reply. Andy, also, was "gifted,"in his modest Western way.

"A country that can now and then show thepapers for a civilization old as thePhenixes of Egypt," he said, in a drawlingtone that was absolutely convincing, "ain'twhat I'd call raw." He decided that a littlemore hammering right next the rowel wasnecessary, and bent over the anvilsolicitously. Even the self-complacency ofSherwood Branciforte could not fail tonote his utter indifference to the presenceand opinions of his companion.Branciforte was accustomed to disputationat times—even to enmity; but not toindifference. He blinked. "My dearfellow, do you realize what it is thatstatement might seem to imply?" he

queried haughtily.

Andy, being a cowpuncher of the brandknown as a "real," objected strongly bothto the term and the tone. He stood up andstared down at the other disapprovingly."I don't as a general thing find myselfguilty of talking in my sleep," he retorted,"and I'm prepared to let anything I saystand till the next throw. We may be somevociferous, out here twixt the Mississippiand the Rockies, but we ain't no infant-in-the-cradle, Mister. We had civilizationhere when the Pilgrim Fathers' rock wasn'tnothing but a pebble to let fly at thebirds!"

"Indeed!" fleered Sherwood Branciforte,in a voice which gave much intangibleinsult to one's intelligence.

Andy clicked his teeth together, whichwas a symptom it were well for the otherto recognize but did not. Then Andysmiled, which was another symptom. Hefingered the spur absently, laid it downand reached, with the gesture that betraysthe act as having become second nature,for his papers and tobacco sack.

"Uh course, you mean all right, and youain't none to blame for what you don'tknow, but you're talking wild andscattering. When you stand up and tell meI can't point to nothing man-made that'sfifty years old, or a hundred, you make mefeel sorry for yuh. I can take you tosomething—or I've seen something—that'solder than swearing; and I reckon that artgoes back to when men wore their hair

long and a sheep-pelt was called amplefor dress occasions."

"Are you crazy, man?" SherwoodBranciforte exclaimed incredulously.

"Not what you can notice. You wait whilstI explain. Once last fall I was riding bymy high lonesome away down next theriver, when my horse went lame on mefrom slipping on a shale bank, and I wasset afoot. Uh course, you being plumbignorant of our picturesque life, you don'thalf know all that might signify to imply."This last in open imitation of Branciforte."It implies that I was in one hell of a fix,to put it elegant. I was sixty miles fromanywhere, and them sixty half the timestanding on end and lapping over onthemselves. That there is down where old

mama Nature gave full swing to a morbidhankering after doing thingsunconventional. Result is, that it's about asungodly a mixture of nightmare scenery asthis old world can show up; and I'veambled around considerable and am in aposition to pass judgment.

"So there I was, and I wasn't in no moodto view the beauties uh nature to speak of;for instance, I didn't admire the cloudssailing around promiscous in the sky, noranything like that. I was high and dry andthe walking was about as poor as I everseen; and my boots was high-heel andrubbed blisters before I'd covered a mileof that acrobatic territory. I wanted water,and I wanted it bad. Before I got it Iwanted it a heap worse." He stopped,

cupped his slim fingers around a match-blaze, and Branciforte sat closer. He didnot know what was coming, but themanner of the indifferent narrator wascompelling. He almost forgot the point atissue in the adventure.

"Along about dark, I camped for the nightunder a big, bare-faced cliff that wasabout as homelike and inviting as acharitable institution, and made a bluff atsleeping and cussed my bum luck in a waythat wasn't any bluff. At sun-up I rose andmooched on." His cigarette neededanother match and he searched his pocketsfor one.

"What about the—whatever it was youstarted to tell me?" urged Branciforte,grown impatient.

Andy looked him over calmly. "You'velived in ignorance for about thirty years orso—giving a rough guess at your age; Ireckon you can stand another five minutes.As I was saying, I wandered around like adogy when it's first turned loose on therange and is trying to find the old, familiarbarn-yard and the skim-milk bucket. Andlike the dogy, I didn't run across anythingthat looked natural or inviting. All that dayI perambulated over them hills, and I willsay I wasn't enjoying the stroll none.You're right when you say things canhappen, out here. There's some things it'sjust as well they don't happen too frequent,and getting lost and afoot in the Bad-landsis one.

"That afternoon I dragged myself up to the

edge of a deep coulee and looked over tosee if there was any way of getting down.There was a bright green streak downthere that couldn't mean nothing but water,at that time of year; this was last fall. Andover beyond, I could see the river that I'dwent and lost. I looked and looked, but thewalls looked straight as a Boston's man'spedigree. And then the sun come out frombehind a cloud and lit up a spot that mademe forget for a minute that I was thirsty asa dog and near starved besides.

"I was looking down on the ruins—and yetit was near perfect—of an old castle.Every stone stood out that clear anddistinct I could have counted 'em. Therewas a tower at one end, partly fell topieces but yet enough left to easy tell what

it was. I could see it had kinda loop-holesin it. There was an open place where Itook it the main entrance had used to be;what I'd call the official entrance. Butthere was other entrances besides, andsome of 'em was made by time and hardweather. There was what looked like awhat-you-may-call-'em—a ditch thing, yuhmind, running around my side of it, and abridge business. Uh course, it was allneeding repairs bad, and part of it yuhneeded to use your imagination on. I laidthere for quite a spell looking it over andwondering how the dickens it come to beway down there. It didn't look to me like itought to be there at all, but in a schoolgeography or a history where the chapteris on historic and prehistoric hangouts uhthe heathen."

"The deuce! A castle in the Bad-lands!"ejaculated Branciforte.

"That's what it was, all right. I found atrail it would make a mountain sheepseasick to follow, and I got down into thecoulee. It was lonesome as sin, andspooky; but there was a spring close by,and a creek running from it; and what is atreat in that part uh the country, it wasgood drinking and didn't have neitheralkali nor sulphur nor mineral in it. It wasjust straight water, and you can gamble Ifilled up on it a-plenty. Then I shot arabbit or two that was hanging out aroundthe ruins, and camped there till next day,when I found a pass out, and got mybearings by the river and come on intocamp. So when you throw slurs on our

plumb newness and shininess, I've got thecards to call yuh. That castle wasn't builtlast summer, Mister. And whoever didbuild it was some civilized. So there yuhare."

Andy took a last, lingering pull at thecigarette stub, flung it into the backenedforge, and picked up the spur. He settledhis hat on his head at its accustomed don't-give-a-darn tilt, and started for the doorand the sunlight.

"Oh, but say! didn't you find out anythingabout it afterwards? There must have beensomething—"

"If it's relics uh the dim and musty past yuhmean, there was; relics to burn. I kickedup specimens of ancient dishes, and truck

like that, while I was prowling around forfire-wood. And inside the castle, in what Ireckon was used for the main hall, I runacrost a skeleton. That is, part of one. Idon't believe it was all there, though."

"But, man alive, why haven't you made useof a discovery like that?" Brancifortefollowed him out, lighting his pipe withfingers that trembled. "Don't you realizewhat a thing like that means?"

Andy turned and smiled lazily down athim. "At the time I was there, I was alltook up with the idea uh getting home. Icouldn't eat skeletons, Mister, nor yet theremains uh prehistoric dishes. And I didn'trun acrost no money, nor no plan markedup with crosses where you're supposed todo your excavating for treasure. It wasn't

nothing, that I could see, for a man tostarve to death while he examined itthorough. And so far as I know there ain'tany record of it. I never heard no onemention building it, anyhow." He stoopedand adjusted the spur to his heel to see if itwere quite right, and went off to the stablehumming under his breath.

Branciforte stood at the door of theblacksmith shop and gazed after him,puffing meditatively at his pipe. "Lord! theignorance of these Western folk! To runupon a find like that, and to think it lessimportant than getting home in time forsupper. To let a discovery like that lieforgotten, a mere incident in a day'stravel! That fellow thinks more, right now,about his horse going lame and himself

raising blisters on his heels, than of—Jove, what ignorance! He—he couldn't eatthe skeleton or the dishes! Jerusalem!"Branciforte knocked his pipe gentlyagainst the door-casing, put in into hiscoat pocket and hurried to the house tohunt up the others and tell them what hehad heard.

That night the roundup pulled in to thehome ranch.

The visitors, headed by their host,swooped down upon the roundup wagonsjust when the boys were gathered togetherfor a cigarette or two apiece and a littletalk before rolling in. There was no night-guarding to do, and trouble winged afar.Sherwood Branciforte hunted out AndyGreen where he lay at ease with head and

shoulders propped against a wheel of thebed-wagon and gossipped with Pink and afew others.

"Look here, Green," he said in a voice toarrest the attention of the whole camp, "Iwish you'd tell the others that tale you toldme this afternoon—about that ruinedcastle down in the hills. Mason, here, is anewspaper man; he scents a story for hispaper. And the rest refuse to believe aword I say."

"I'd hate to have a rep like that, Mr.Branciforte," Andy said commiseratingly,and turned his big, honest gray eyes towhere stood the women—two breezyyoung persons with sleeves rolled totanned elbows and cowboy hats of themusical comedy brand. Also they had gay

silk handkerchiefs knotted picturesquelyaround their throats. There was another, agiggly, gurgly lady with gray hair fluffedup into a pompadour. You know the sort.She was the kind who refuses to grow old,and so merely grows imbecile.

"Do tell us, Mr. Green," this young oldlady urged, displaying much gold by hersmile. "It sounds so romantic."

"It's funny you never mentioned it to any ofus," put in the "old man" suspiciously.

Andy pulled himself up into a moredecorous position, and turned his eyestowards his boss. "I never knew yuh tookany interest in relic-hunting," he explainedmildly.

"Sherwood says you found a skeleton!"said the young old lady, shudderingpleasurably.

"Yes, I did find one—or part of one,"Andy admitted reluctantly.

"What were the relics of pottery like?"demanded one of the cowboy-hatted girls,as if she meant to test him. "I do somecollecting of that sort of thing."

Andy threw away his cigarette, and with itall compunction. "Well, I wasn't so muchinterested in the dishes as in gettingsomething to eat," he apologized. "I sawseveral different kinds. One was a big,awkward looking thing and was prettyheavy, and had straight sides. Then I comeacross one or two more that was

ornamented some. One had what lookedlike a fish on it, and the other I couldn'tmake out very well. They didn't look to beworth much, none of 'em."

"Green," said his employer steadily, "wasthere such a place?"

Andy returned his look honestly. "Therewas, and there is yet, I guess," he asserted."I'll tell you how you can find it and whatit's like—if yuh doubt my words." Heglanced around and found every man,including the cook, listening intently. Hepicked a blade of new grass and begansplitting it into tiny threads. The hostfound boxes for the women to sit upon,and the men sat down upon the grass.

"Before I come here to work, I was riding

for the Circle C. One day I was ridingaway down in the Bad-lands alone and myhorse slipped in some shale rock and wentlame; strained his shoulder so I couldn'tride him. That put me afoot, and climbingup and down them hills I lost my bearingsand didn't know where I was at for a dayor two. I wandered around aimless, andgot into a strip uh country that was new tome and plumb lonesome and wild. "Thatsecond day is when I happened across thisruin. I was looking down into a deep,shut-in coulee, hunting water, when thesun come out and shone straight on to thisplace. It was right down under me; a stoneruin, with a tower on one end and kindatumbled down so it wasn't so awful high—the tower wasn't. There was a—a—"

"Moat," Branciforte suggested.

"That's the word—a moat around it, and abridge that was just about gone to pieces.It had loopholes, like the pictures ofcastles, and a—"

"Battlement?" ventured one of themusical-comedy cowgirls.

Andy had not meant to say battlement; of atruth, his conception of battlements wasextremely hazy, but he caught up the wordand warmed to the subject. "Battlement?well I should guess yes! There was aboutas elegant a battlement as I'd want to seeanywhere. It was sure a peach. It was—"he hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Itwas high as the tower, and it had figurescarved all over it; them kind that looks

like kid-drawing in school, with bows andarrows stuck out in front of 'em,threatening."

"Not the old Greek!" exclaimed one of thegirls in a little, breathless voice.

"I couldn't say as to that," Andy madeguarded reply. "I never made no specialstudy of them things. But they was sureold. And—"

"About how large was the castle?" put inthe man who wrote things. "How manyrooms, say?"

"I'd hate to give a guess at the size. I didn'tstep it off, and I'm a punk guesser. Therooms I didn't count. I only exploredaround in the main hall, like, a little. But it

got dark early, down in there, and I didn'thave no matches to waste. And nextmorning I started right out at sun-up to findthe way home. No, I never counted therooms, and if I had, the chances are I'dhave likely counted the same one more'nonce; to count them rooms would take anexpert, which I ain't—not at counting. Idon't reckon, though, that there was soawful many. Anyway, not more thanfifteen or twenty. But as I say, I couldn'trightly make a guess, even; or I'd hate to.Ruins don't interest me much, though I waskinda surprised to run acrost that one, allright, and I'm willing to gamble there waswarm and exciting times down there whenthe place was in running order. I'd kindalike to have been down there then. Lastfall, though, there wasn't nothing to get

excited over, except getting out uh there."

"A castle away out here! Just think, goodpeople, what that means! Romance,adventure and scientific discoveries! Wemust go right down there and explore theplace. Why can't we start at once—in themorning? This gentleman can guide us tothe place, and—"

"It ain't easy going," Andy remarked,conscientiously. "It's pretty rough; someplaces, you'd have to walk and lead yourhorses."

They swept aside the discouragement.

"We'd need pick and shovels, and men todig," cried one enthusiast. "Uncle Petercan lend us some of his men. There may

be treasure to unearth. There may beanything that is wonderful andmysterious. Get busy, Uncle Peter, and getyour outfit together; you've boasted that aroundup can beat the army in getting underway quickly, now let us have a practicaldemonstration. We want to start by sixo'clock—all of us, with a cook and four orfive men to do the excavating. Bring it topass!" It was the voice of the girl whomher friends spoke of as "The life of theparty;" the voice of the-girl-who-does-things.

"It's sixty-five miles from here, good andstrong—and mostly up and down," put inAndy.

"'Quoth the raven,'" mocked the-girl-who-does-things. "We are prepared to face the

ups-and-downs. Do we start at six, UnclePeter?"

Uncle Peter glanced sideways at theroundup boss. To bring it to pass, hewould be obliged to impress the roundupcook and part of the crew. It was breakingan unwritten law of the rangeland, andworse, it was doing somethingunbusiness-like and foolish. But not eventhe owner of the Rocking R may withstandthe pleading of a pretty woman. UnclePeter squirmed, but he promised:

"We start at six; earlier if you say so."

The roundup boss gave his employer alook of disgust and walked away; thecrew took it that he went off to somesecluded place to swear.

Thereafter there was much discussion ofways and means, and much enthusiasmamong the visitors from the East—equalled by the depression of the crew,for cowboys do not, as a rule, take kindlyto pick and shovel, and the excavators hadnot yet been chosen from among them.They were uneasy, and they stole frequent,betraying glances at one another. All ofwhich amused Pink much. Pink would liketo have gone along, and would certainlyhave offered his services, but for the factthat his work there was done and hewould have to start back to the Flying Ujust as soon as one of his best saddlehorses, which had stepped on a brokenbeer bottle and cut its foot, was able totravel. That would be in a few days,probably. So Pink sighed and watched the

preparations enviously.

Since he was fairly committed intobreaking all precedents, uncle Peterplunged recklessly. He ordered the mess-wagon to be restocked and prepared forthe trip, and he took the bed-tent and halfthe crew. The foreman he wisely leftbehind with the remnant of his outfit. Theywere all to eat at the house while themess-wagon was away, and they were tospread their soogans—which is to saybeds—where they might, if the bunk-houseproved too small or too hot.

The foreman, outraged beyond words,saddled at daybreak and rode to thenearest town, and the unchosen half turnedout in a body to watch the departure of theexplorers, which speaks eloquently of

their interest; for cowboys off duty areprone to sleep long.

Andy, as guide, bolted ahead of the partythat he might open the gate. Bolted is agood word, for his horse swerved andkept on running, swerved again, and camedown in a heap. Andy did not get up, andthe women screamed. Then Pink and someothers hurried out and bore Andy,groaning, to the bunk-house.

The visitors from the East gathered,perturbed, around the door, sympatheticand dismayed. It looked very much as iftheir exploration must end where it began,and the-girl-who-does-things looked aboutto weep, until Andy, still groaning, sentPink out to comfort them.

"He says you needn't give up the trip onhis account," Pink announced musicallyfrom the doorway. "He's drawing a mapand marking the coulee where the ruin is.He says most any of the boys that know thecountry at all can find the place for yuh.And he isn't hurt permanent; he strainedhis back so he can't ride, is all." Pinkdimpled at the young old lady who wasadmiring him frankly, and withdrew.

Inside, Andy Green was making pencilmarks and giving the chosen half explicitdirections. At last he folded the paper andhanded it to one called Sandy.

"That's the best I can do for yuh," hefinished. "I don't see how yuh can miss itif yuh follow that map close. And if themgay females make any kick on the trail,

you just remind 'em that I said all along itwas rough going. So long, and good luck."

So with high-keyed, feminine laughter andmuch dust, passed the exploring partyfrom the Rocking R.

"Say," Pink began two days later to Andy,who was sitting on the shady side of thebunk-house staring absently at the skyline,"There's a word uh praise I've beenaiming to give yuh. I've seen riding, andI've done a trifle in that line myself, andlearned some uh the tricks. But I want tosay I never did see a man flop his horseany neater than you done that morning. I'llbet there ain't another man in the outfit gotnext your play. I couldn't uh done it bettermyself. Where did you learn that? Everride in Wyoming?"

Andy turned his eyes, but not his head—which was a way he had—and regardedPink slantwise for at least ten seconds."Yes, I've rode in Wyoming," he answeredquietly. Then: "What's the chance for ajob, up your way? Is the Flying U open forgood men and true?"

"It won't cost yuh a cent to try," Pink toldhim. "How's your back? Think you'll beable to ride by the time Skeeker is able totravel?"

Andy, grinned. "Say," he confidedsuddenly, "if that hoss don't improve somespeedy, I'll be riding on ahead. I reckonI'll be able to travel before them explorersget back, my friend."

"Why?" dimpled Pink boldly.

"Why? Well, the going is some rough,down that way. If they get them wagonshalf way to the coulee marked with across, they'll sure have to attach wingsonto 'em. I've been some worried aboutthat. I don't much believe uncle Peter isgoing to enjoy that trip—and he sure doesget irritable by spells. I've got a notion toride for some other outfit, this summer."

"Was that the reason you throwed yourhorse down and got hurt, that morning?"questioned Pink, and Andy grinned againby way of reply.

"They'll be gone a week, best they cando," he estimated aloud. "We ought to beable to make our getaway by then, easy."

Pink assured him that a week would see

them headed for the Flying U.

It was the evening of the sixth day, and thetwo were packed and ready to leave in themorning, when Andy broke off hummingand gave a snort of dismay. "By gracious,there they come. My mother lives inBuffalo, Pink, in a little drab house withwhite trimmings. Write and tell her howher son— Oh, beloved! but they're hittingher up lively. If they made the whole tripin that there frame uh mind, they could uhgone clean to Miles City and back. Howpretty the birds sing! Pink, you'll hearwords, directly."

Directly Pink did.

"You're the biggest liar on earth,"Sherwood Branciforte contributed to the

recriminating wave that near engulfedAndy Green. "You sent us down there on awild-goose chase, you brute. You—"

"I never sent nobody," Andy defended."You was all crazy to go."

"And nothing but an old stone hut sometrapper had built!" came an indignant,female tone. "There never was any castle,nor—"

"A man's home is his castle," arguedAndy, standing unabashed before them."Putting it that way, it was a castle, allright."

There was babel, out of which—

"And the skeleton! Oh, you—it was a deadcow!" This from the young old lady, who

was looking very draggled and not at allyoung.

"I don't call to mind ever saying it washuman," put in Andy, looking at her withsurprised, gray eyes.

"And the battlements!" groaned the-girl-who-does-things.

"You wanted battlements," Andy flungmildly into the uproar. "I always aim toplease." With that he edged away fromthem and made his escape to where thecook was profanely mixing biscuits forsupper. All-day moves put an edge to histemper. The cook growled an epithet, andAndy passed on. Down near the stable hemet one of the chosen half, and the fellowgreeted him with a grin. Andy stopped

abruptly.

"Say, they don't seem none too agreeable,"he began tentatively, jerking his thumbtoward the buzzing group. "How about it,Sandy? Was they that petulant all theway?"

Sandy, the map-bearer, chuckled. "It'slucky you got hurt at the last minute! Andyet it was worth the trip. Uh course we gotstalled with the wagons, the second dayout, but them women was sure ambitious,and made us go on with a packaderolayout. I will say that, going down, theystood the hardships remarkable. It wascoming back that frazzled the party.

"And when we found the place—say, butit was lucky you wasn't along! They sure

went hog-wild when they seen the ruins.The old party with the pompadoordisplayed temper, and shed tears uh rage.When she looked into the cabin and seenthe remains uh that cow-critter, there waslanguage it wasn't polite to overhear. Shesaid a lot uh things about you, Andy. Onething they couldn't seem to get over, andthat was the smallness uh the blamedshack. Them fourteen or fifteen rooms laidheavy on their minds."

"I didn't say there was fourteen or fifteenrooms. I said I didn't count the rooms; Ididn't either. I never heard of anybodycounting one room. Did you, Pink?"

"No," Pink agreed, "I never did!"

Sandy became suddenly convulsed. "Oh,

but the funniest thing was the ancientpottery," he gasped, the tears standing inhis eyes. "That old Dutch oven was badenough; but when one uh the girls—thatone that collects old dishes—happenedacross an old mackerel can and picked itup and saw the fish on the label, she wasthe maddest female person I ever saw inmy life, barring none. If you'd been inreach about that time, she'd just aboutclawed your eyes out, Andy Green. Ohme, oh my!" Sandy slapped his thigh andhad another spasm.

Sounds indicated that the wave ofrecrimination was rolling nearer. Andyturned to find himself within arm's lengthof Uncle Pete.

"Maybe this is your idea of a practical

joke, Green," he said to Andy. "Butanyway, it will cost you your job. I oughtto charge you up with the time my outfithas spent gallivanting around the countryon the strength of your wild yarn. Thequicker you hit the trail, the better it willsuit me. By the way, what's your firstname?" He asked, pulling out a check-book.

"Andy," answered the unrepentant one.

"Andy," Uncle Peter paused with afountain pen between his fingers. Helooked Andy up and down, and the frownleft his face. He proceeded to write outthe check, and when it was done hehanded it over with a pleased smile.

"What did you do it for, Green?" he

queried in a friendlier tone.

"Self-defence," Andy told him laconically,and turned away.

Half an hour later, Andy and Pink trailedout of the coulee that sheltered theRocking R. When they were out and awayfrom the fence, and Pink's horses, knowinginstinctively that they were homewardbound, were jogging straight west withoutneed of guidance, Andy felt in his pocketfor cigarette material. His fingers came incontact with the check Uncle Peter hadgiven him, and he drew it forth and lookedit over again.

"Well, by gracious!" he said to himself."Uncle Peter thinks we're even, I guess."

He handed the check to Pink and rolled hiscigarette; and Pink, after onecomprehending look at the slip of paper,doubled up over his saddle-horn andshouted with glee—for the check waswritten: "Pay to the order of AnaniasGreen."

"And I've got to sign myself a liar, or Idon't collect no money," sighed Andy."That's what I call tough luck, bygracious!"

BLINKThe range-land was at its unpicturesqueworst. For two days the wind had ragedand ranted over the hilltops, and whoopedup the long coulees, so that tears stood inthe eyes of the Happy Family when theyfaced it; impersonal tears blown intobeing by the very force of the wind. Also,when they faced it they rode with bodiesaslant over their saddle-horns and hatspulled low over their streaming eyes, andwith coats fastened jealously close. Ifthere were buttons enough, well and good;if not, a strap cinched tightly about themiddle was considered pretty lucky andnot to be despised. Though it was early

September, "sour-dough" coats were muchin evidence, for the wind had a chill wayof searching to the very marrow—andeven a good, sheepskin-lined "sour-dough" was not always protectionsufficient.

When the third day dawned bleakly,literally blown piecemeal from outdarkness as bleak, the Happy Family roseshiveringly and with sombre disapprovalof whatever met their blood-shot eyes;dressed hurriedly in the chill of flappingtent and went out to stagger drunkenlyover to where Patsy, in the mess-tent, wastrying vainly to keep the biscuits frombecoming dust-sprinkled, and sundry pansand tins from taking jingling littleexcursions on their own account. Over the

brow of the next ridge straggled the cavvy,tails and manes whipping in the gale, thenighthawk swearing so that his voice camebooming down to camp. Truly, the dayopened inauspiciously enough for almostany dire ending.

As further evidence, saddling horses forcircle resolved itself, as Weary remarkedat the top of his voice to Pink, at hiselbow, into "a free-for-all broncho bustingtournament." For horses have nerves, andnothing so rasps the nerves of man orbeast as a wind that never stops blowing;which means swaying ropes and poppingsaddle leather, and coat-tails flapping likewet sheets on a clothes line. Horses do notlike these things, and they are prone toeloquent manifestations of their

disapproval.

Over by the bed-wagon, a man they calledBlink, for want of a better name, wasfighting his big sorrel silently, with thatdogged determination which may easilygrow malevolent. The sorrel was at best ahigh-tempered, nervous beast, and whatwith the wind and the flapping ofeverything in sight, and the pitching ofhalf-a-dozen horses around him, he wasnearly crazed with fear in the abstract.

Blink was trying to bridle him, and he wasnot saying a word—which, in the generaluproar, was strange. But Blink seldom didsay anything. He was one of the alienswho had drifted into the Flying U outfitthat spring, looking for work. Chip hadtaken him on, and he had stayed. He could

ride anything in his string, and he wasalways just where he was wanted. Henever went to town when the othersclattered off for a few hours' celebrationmore or less mild, he never took part inany of the camp fun, and he never offendedany man. If any offended him they did notknow it unless they were observant; if theywere, they would see his pale lashes winkfast for a minute, and they might readaright the sign and refrain from furtherbanter. So Blink, though he was counted agood man on roundup, was left prettymuch alone when in camp.

Andy Green, well and none too favorablyknown down Rocking R way, and latelyadopted into the Happy Family on therecommendation of Pink and his own

pleasing personality, looped the latigointo the holder, gave his own dancingsteed a slap of the don't-try-to-run-any-whizzers-on-me variety, and went over tohelp out Blink.

Blink eyed his approach with much thesame expression with which he eyed thehorse. "I never hollered for assistance," heremarked grudgingly when Andy was athis elbow. "When I can't handle any of theskates in my string, I'll quit riding and taketo sheep-herding." Whereupon he turnedhis back as squarely as he might uponAndy and made another stealthy grab forthe sorrel's ears. (There is such a thing inthe range-land as jealousy among riders,and the fame of Andy Green had goneafar.)

"All right. Just as you say, and not as Icare a darn," Andy retorted, and wentback to where his own mount stood tail tothe wind. He did not in the least mind therebuff; he really felt all the indifferencehis manner portrayed—perhaps evenmore. He had offered help where helpwas needed, and that ended it for him. Itnever occurred to him that Blink mightfeel jealous over Andy's hard-earnedreputation as a "tamer of wild ones," ormistake his good nature for patronage.

Five minutes later, when Chip lookedaround comprehensively at the lot of themin various degrees of readiness; saw thatBlink was still fighting silently formastery of the sorrel and told Andy to goover and help him get saddled, Andy said

nothing of having had his services refused,but went. This time, Blink also saidnothing, but accepted in ungracioussurrender the assistance thus thrust uponhim. For on the range-land, unless one isin a mind to roll his bed and ride away,one does not question when the leadercommands. Andy's attitude was still thatof indifference; he really thought verylittle about Blink or his opinions, and therapid blinking of the pale lashes was quitelost upon him.

They rode, eighteen ill-natured,uncomfortable cowboys, tumultuouslyaway from the camp, where canvas bulgedand swayed, and loose corners crackedlike pistol shots, over the hill where eventhe short, prairie grass crouched and

flattened itself against the sod; where straypebbles, loosened by the ungentle tread ofpitching hoofs, skidded twice as far as incalm weather. The gray sky bentthreateningly above them, wind-torn intoflying scud but never showing a hint ofblue. Later there might be rain, sleet, snow—or sunshine, as nature mightwhimsically direct; but for the present sheseemed content with only the chill windthat blew the very heart out of a man.

Whenever Chip pulled up to turn off acouple of riders that they might search abit of rough country, his voice was sharpwith the general discomfort. When menrode away at his command, it was withbrows drawn together and vengeful heelsdigging the short-ribs of horses in quite as

unlovely a mood as themselves.

Out at the end of the "circle," Chipdivided the remainder of his men into twogroups for the homeward drive. One grouphe himself led. The other owned Weary astemporary commander and galloped off tothe left, skirting close to the foothills ofthe Bear Paws. In that group rode Pink andHappy Jack, Slim, Andy Green and Blinkthe silent.

"I betche we get a blizzard out uh this,"gloomed Happy Jack, pulling his coatcollar up another fraction of an inch. "Andthe way Chip's headed us, we got to crossthat big flat going back in the thick of it;chances is, we'll git lost."

No one made reply to this; it seemed

scarcely worth while. Every man of themrode humped away from the wind, hishead drawn down as close to hisshoulders as might be. Conversation underthose conditions was not likely to becomebrisk.

"A fellow that'll punch cows for a living,"Happy Jack asserted venomously after aminute, "had ought to be shut upsomewheres. He sure ain't responsible. Ibetche next summer don't see me at it."

"Aw, shut up. We know you're feeble-minded, without you blatting it by thehour," snapped Pink, showing never adimple.

Happy Jack tugged again at his collar andmade remarks, to which no one paid the

slightest attention. They rode in amongstthe hills and narrow ridges dividing"draws" as narrow, where range cattlewould seek shelter from the cutting blastthat raked the open. Then, just as theybegan to realize that the wind was notquite such a raging torment, came a newphase of nature's unpleasant humor.

It was not a blizzard that descended uponthem, though when it came rolling downfrom the hilltops it much resembled one.The wind had changed and brought fog,cold, suffocating, impenetrable. Yet suchwas the mood of them that no one saidanything about it. Weary had been about toturn off a couple of men, but did not. Whatwas the use, since they could not seetwenty yards?

For a time they rode aimlessly, Weary inthe lead. Then, when it grew no better butworse, he pulled up, just where a highbank shut off the wind and a tangle ofbrush barred the way in front.

"We may as well camp right here tillthings loosen up a little," he said. "There'sno use playing blind-man's-buff anylonger. We'll have some fire, for a change.Mama! this is sure beautiful weather!"

At that, they brightened a bit and hurriedlydismounted and hunted dry wood. Sincethey were to have a fire, the generaltendency was to have a big one; so thatwhen they squatted before it and held outcold, ungloved fingers to the warmth, theflames were leaping high into the fog andcrackling right cheerily. It needed only a

few puffs at their cigarettes to chase thegloom from their faces and put them in themood for talk. Only Blink sat apart andstared moodily into the fire, his handsclasped listlessly around his knees, and tohim they gave no attention. He was analien, and a taciturn one at that. TheHappy Family were accustomed to livingclannishly, even on roundup, and onlywhen they tacitly adopted a man, as theyhad adopted Pink and Irish and, last butnot least important, Andy Green, did theytake note of that man's mood and demandreasons for any surliness.

"If Slim would perk up and go run down agrouse or two," Pink observed pointedly,"we'd be all right for the day. How aboutit, Slim?"

"Run 'em down yourself," Slim retorted."By golly, I ain't no lop-ear bird dog."

"The law's out fer chickens," Happy Jackremarked dolefully.

"Go on, Happy, and get us a few. You'vegot your howitzer buckled on," fleeredAndy Green. Andy it was whose fertileimagination had so christened HappyJack's formidable weapon.

"Aw, gwan!" protested Happy Jack.

"Happy looks like he was out for a rep,"bantered Pink. "He makes me think uh theBad Man in a Western play. All he needsis his hat turned up in front and his sleevesrolled up to his elbow, like he was killinghogs. Happy would make a dandy-looking

outlaw, with that gun and that face uh his."

"Say, by golly, I bet that's what he'sfigurin' on doing. He ain't going to punchcows no more—I bet he's thinking aboutturning out."

"Well, when I do, you'll be the first fellowI lay for," retorted Happy, with laboredwit.

"You never'd get a rep shooting at a targetthe size uh Slim," dimpled Pink. "Is thattoy cannon loaded, Happy?"

"I betche yuh dassen't walk off ten pacesand let me show yuh," growled Happy.

Pink made as if to rise, then settled backwith a sigh. "Ten paces is farther than youcould drive me from this fire with a club,"

he said. "And you couldn't see me, in thisfog."

"Say, it is pretty solid," said Weary,looking around him at the blank, graywall. "A fellow could sit right here and bea lot ignorant of what's going on aroundhim. A fellow could—"

"When I was riding down in the SanSimon basin," spoke up Andy, rolling hissecond cigarette daintily between hisfinger-tips, "I had a kinda queerexperience in a fog, once. It was thick asthis one, and it rolled down just about assudden and unexpected. That's a plentywild patch uh country—or it was when Iwas there. I was riding for a Spanish gentthat kept white men as a luxury and let thegreasers do about all the rough work—

such as killing off superfluous neighbors,and running brands artistic, and the like.Oh, he was a gay mark, all right.

"But about this other deal: I was out ridingalone after a little bunch uh hosses, oneday in the fall. I packed my gun and a pairuh field glasses, and every time I rode uponto a mesa I'd take a long look at all thelower country to save riding it. I guess I'dprognosticated around like that for two orthree hours, when I come out on a littlepinnacle that slopes down gradual towarda neighbor's home ranch—only the ranchitself was quite a ride back up the basin.

"I got off my horse and set down on a rockto build me a smoke, and was gazing offover the country idle, when I seen a ridercome up out of a little draw and gallop

along quartering-like, to pass my pinnacleon the left. You know how a man out alonelike that will watch anything, from achicken hawk up in the air to a band uhsheep, without any interest in either one,but just to have your eyes on somethingthat's alive and moves.

"So I watched him, idle, while I smoked.Pretty soon I seen another fellow ride outinto sight where the first one had, and hither up lively down the trail. I didn't do nowondering—I just sat and watched 'emboth for want uh something better to do."

"Finding them strays wasn't important, Is'pose?" Happy Jack insinuated.

"It could wait, and did. So I kept an eye onthese gazabos, and pretty soon I saw the

hind fellow turn off the trail and gofogging along behind a little rise. He comeinto sight again, whipping down bothsides like he was heading a wild four-year-old; and that was queer, because theonly other live thing in sight was mannumber one, and I didn't see no reasonwhy he should be hurting himself to getaround to windward like that.

"Maybe it was five minutes I watched 'em:number one loping along like there wasn'tnothing urgent and he was just merelygoing somewhere and taking his time forit, and number two quirting and spurringlike seconds was diamonds."

"I wish they was that valuable to you,"hinted Pink.

"They ain't, so take it easy. Well, prettysoon they got closer together, and thennumber two unhooked something on hissaddle that caught the light. There's whereI got my field glasses into play. I drew abead with 'em, and seen right off it was agun. And I hadn't no more than got mybrain adjusted to grasp his idea, when heputs it back and takes down his rope. Thatthere," Andy added naïvely, "promisedmore real interest; guns is commonplace.

"I took down the glasses long enough tosize up the layout. Glasses, you know, aremighty deceiving when it comes torelative distances, and a hilltop a mileback looks, through the glass, like juststepping over a ditch. With the naked eye Icould see that they were coming together

pretty quick, and they done so.

"Number one looks back, but whether heseen number two I couldn't say; seemed tome like he just glanced back casual and inthe wrong direction. Be that is it may,number two edged off a little and rode inbehind a bunch uh mesquite—and then Iseen that the trail took a turn, right there.So he pulled up and stood still till theother one had ambled past, and then hewhirled out into the trail and swung hisloop.

"When I'd got the glasses focused on 'emagain, he had number one snared, all right,and had took his turns. The hoss he wasriding—it was a buckskin—set back andyanked number one end over end out uhthe saddle, and number one's hoss

stampeded off through the brush. Numbertwo dug in his spurs and went hell-bent offthe trail and across country dragging theother fellow—and him bouncing over therough spots something horrible.

"I don't know what got the matter uh me,then; I couldn't do anything but sit there onmy rock and watch through the glasses.Anyway, while they looked close enoughto hit with a rock, they was off a mile ormore. So while I could see it all I couldn'tdo nothing to prevent. I couldn't even hearnumber one yell—supposing he done anyhollering, which the chances is he did aplenty. It was for all the world like one uhthese moving pictures.

"I thought it was going to be a case uhdragging to death, but it wasn't; it looked

to me a heap worse. Number two draggedhis man a ways—I reckon till he wasplumb helpless—and then he pulled upand rode back to where he laid. Thefellow tried to get up, and did get partlyon his knees—and number one standingover him, watching.

"What passed I don't know, not having myhearing magnified like my sight was. Iframed it up that number two was gettinghis past, present and future read out to him—what I'd call a free life reading. Therope was pinning his arms down to hissides, and number two was taking blamedgood care there wasn't any slack, so fastas he tried to get up he was yanked back.From first to last he never had a ghost of ashow.

"Then number two reaches backdeliberate and draws his gun andcommences shooting, and I commenceshollering for him to quit it—and me a mileoff and can't do nothing! I tell yuh rightnow, that was about the worst deal I everwent up against, to set there on thatpinnacle and watch murder done in coldblood, and me plumb helpless.

"The first shot wasn't none fatal, as I couldsee plainer than was pleasant. Looked tome like he wanted to string out the agony.It was a clear case uh butchery from startto finish; the damnedest, lowest-down acta white man could be guilty of. Heempties his six-gun—counting the smoke-puffs—and waits a minute, watching like acat does a gopher. I was sweating cold,

but I kept my eyes glued to them glasseslike a man in a nightmare.

"When he makes sure the fellow's dead, herides alongside and flips off the rope, withthe buckskin snorting and edging off—atthe blood-smell, I reckon. While he'scoiling his rope, calm as if he'd justmerely roped a yearling, the buckskin getshis head, plants it and turns on thefireworks.

"When that hoss starts in pitching, I comealive and drop the glasses into their caseand make a jump for my own hoss. If theLord lets me come up with that devil, Iaim to deal out a case uh justice on myown hook; I was in a right proper humorfor doing him like he done the otherfellow, and not ask no questions. Looked

to me like he had it coming, all right.

"I'd just stuck my toe in the stirrup, whendown comes the fog like a wet blanket oneverything. I couldn't see twenty feet—"Andy stopped and reached for a burningtwig to relight his cigarette. The HappyFamily was breathing hard with the spellof the story.

"Did yuh git him?" Happy Jack askedhoarsely. Andy took a long puff at hiscigarette. "Well, I— Holy smoke! what'sthe matter with you, Blink?" For Blinkwas leaning forward, half crouched, like acat about to pounce, and was glaringfixedly at Andy with lips drawn back in asnarl. The Happy Family looked, thenstared.

Blink relaxed, shrugged his shoulders andgrinned unmirthfully. He got up, pulled uphis chaps with the peculiar, hitchinggesture which comes with long practiceand grows to be second nature, and staredback defiantly at the wondering faceslighted by the dancing flames. He turnedhis back coolly upon them and walkedaway to where his horse stood, took up thereins and stuck his toe in the stirrup, wentup and landed in the saddle ready foranything. Then he wheeled the big sorrelso that he faced those at the camp-fire.

"A man's a damned fool, Andy Green, tosee more than is meant for him to see. He'splumb crazy to go round blatting all heknows. You won't tell that tale again, miamigo!"

There was the pop of a pistol, a puff ofblue against the gray, and then the fogreached out and gathered Blink and thesorrel to itself. Only the clatter ofgalloping hoofs came to them from behindthe damp curtain. Andy Green was lyingon his back in the grass, his cigarettesmoking dully in his fingers, a fastwidening red streak trailing down fromhis temple.

The Happy Family rose like a covey offrightened chickens before the echoeswere done playing with the gun-bark. Onthe heels of Blink's shot came the crack ofHappy Jack's "howitzer" as he firedblindly toward the hoof-beats. There wasmore shooting while they scurried towhere their horses, snorting excitement,

danced uneasily at the edge of the bushes.Only one man spoke, and that was Pink,who stopped just as he was about to swinginto the saddle.

"Damme for leaving my gun in camp! I'llstay with Andy. Go on—and if yuh don'tget him, I'll—" he turned back, cursinghysterically, and knelt beside the longfigure in the grass. There was a tumult ofsound as the three raced off in pursuit, soclose that the flight of the fugitive was stilldistinct in the fog.

While they raced they cursed the fog thatshielded from their vengeance theirquarry, and made such riding as theirs ablind gamble with the chances all in favorof broken bones; their only comfort theknowledge that Blink could see no better

than could they. They did not talk, just atfirst. They did not even wonder if Andywas dead. Every nerve, every muscle andevery thought was concentrated upon thepursuit of Blink. It was the instant rising tomeet an occasion undreamed of inadvance, to do the only thing possiblewithout loss of a second in parley. Truly,it were ill for Blink to fall into the handsof those three in that mood.

They rode with quirt and spur, guided onlyby the muffled pluckety-pluck, pluckety-pluck of Blink's horse fleeing always justbefore. Whenever the hoof-beats seemed abit closer, Happy Jack would lift his long-barreled .45 and send a shot at randomtoward the sound. Or Weary or Slimwould take a chance with their shorter

guns. But never once did they pull rein forsteep or gulley, and never once did thehoof-beats fail to come back to them fromout the fog.

The chase had led afar and the pace wastelling on their mounts, which breathedasthmatically. Slim, best he could do, wasfalling behind. Weary's horse stumbledand went to his knees, so that Happy Jackforged ahead just when the wind, puffingup from the open, blew aside the gray fog-wall. It was not a minute, nor half that; butit was long enough for Happy Jack to see,clear and close, Blink pausing irresolutelyupon the edge of a deep, brush-filledgulley. Happy Jack gave a hoarse croak oftriumph and fired, just as the fog-curtainswayed back maddeningly. Happy Jack

nearly wept with pure rage. Weary andSlim came up, and together they gallopedto the place, riding by instinct of direction,for there was no longer any sound toguide.

Ten minutes they spent searching thegulley's edge. Then they saw dimly,twenty feet below, a huddled object half-hidden in the brush. They climbed downnone too warily, though they knew wellwhat might be lying, venomous as a coiledrattler, in wait for them below. Slippingand sliding in the fog-dampened grass,they reached the spot, to find the big sorrelcrumpled there, dead. They searchedanxiously and futilely for more, but Blinkwas not there, nor was there anything toshow that he had ever been there. Then not

fear, perhaps, but caution, came to HappyJack.

"Aw, say! he's got away on us—the skunk!He's down there in the brush,somewheres, waiting for somebody to goin and drag him out by the ear. I betchehe's laying low, right now, waiting for achance to pot-shot us. We better git backout uh this." He edged away, his eyes onthe thicket just below. To ride in therewas impossible, even to the Happy Familyin whole or in part. To go in afoot was notat all to the liking of Happy Jack.

Slim gave a comprehensive, round-eyedstare at the unpromising surroundings, andfollowed Happy Jack. "By golly, that'sright. Yuh don't git me into no hole likethat," he assented.

Weary, foolhardy to the last, stayedlongest; but even Weary could not butadmit that the case was hopeless. Thebrush was thick and filled the gully,probably from end to end. Riding throughit was impossible, and hunting it throughon foot would be nothing but suicide, witha man like Blink hidden away in itsdepths. They climbed back to the rim,remounted and rode, as straight as mightbe, for the camp-fire and what lay beside,with Pink on guard.

It was near noon when, through thelightening fog, they reached the place anddiscovered that Andy, though unconscious,was not dead. They found, uponexamination of his hurt, that the bullet hadploughed along the side of his head above

his ear; but just how serious it might bethey did not know. Pink, having a freshhorse and aching for action, mounted androde in much haste to camp, that the bed-wagon might be brought out to take Andyin to the ranch and the ministrations of theLittle Doctor. Also, he must notify thecrew and get them out searching for Blink.

All that night and the next day thecowboys rode, and the next. They rakedthe foothills, gulley by gulley, theirpurpose grim. It would probably be a caseof shoot-on-sight with them, and nothingsaved Blink save the all-important factthat never once did any man of the FlyingU gain sight of him. He had vanishedcompletely after that fleeting glimpseHappy Jack had gained, and in the end the

Flying U was compelled to own defeat.

Upon one point they congratulatedthemselves: Andy, bandaged as he was,had escaped with a furrow ploughedthrough the scalp, though it was not thefault of Blink that he was alive and able todiscuss the affair with the others—moreexactly, to answer the questions they firedat him.

"Didn't you recognize him as being themurderer?" Weary asked him curiously.

Andy moved uneasily on his bed. "No, Ididn't. By gracious, you must think I'm aplumb fool!"

"Well, yuh sure hit the mark, whether yuhmeant to or not," Pink asserted. "He was

the jasper, all right. Look how he wasglaring at yuh while you were tellingabout it. He knew he was the party, andhaving a guilty conscience, he naturallysupposed yuh recognized him from thestart."

"Well, I didn't," snapped Andyungraciously, and they put it down to thepeevishness of invalidism and overlookedthe tone.

"Chip has given his description in to thesheriff," soothed Weary, "and if he gets offhe's sure a good one. And I heard that thesheriff wired down to the San Simoncountry and told 'em their man was uphere. Mama! What bad breaks a man willmake when he's on the dodge! If Blink hadkept his face closed and acted normal,

nobody would have got next. Andy didn'tknow he was the fellow that done it. But itsure was queer, the way the play come up.Wasn't it, Andy?"

Andy merely grunted. He did not like todwell upon the subject, and he showed itplainly.

"By golly! he must sure have had it in forthat fellow," mused Slim ponderously, "tokill him the way Andy says he did. Bygolly, yuh can't wonder his eyes stuck outwhen he heard Andy telling us all aboutit!"

"I betche he lays for Andy yet, and gitshim," predicted Happy Jack felicitously."He won't rest whilst an eye-witness isrunning around loose. I betche he's cached

in the hills right now, watching hischance."

"Oh, go to hell, the whole lot of yuh!"flared Andy, rising to an elbow. "What thedickens are yuh roosting around here for?Why don't yuh go on out to camp whereyuh belong? You're a nice bunch to setaround comforting the sick! Vamos, darnyuh!"

Whereupon they took the hint anddeparted, assuring Andy, by way offarewell, that he was an unappreciativecuss and didn't deserve any sympathy orsick-calls. They also condoled openlywith Pink because he had been detailed asnurse, and advised him to sit right downon Andy if he got too sassy and haughtyover being shot up by a real outlaw. They

said that any fool could build himself abunch of trouble with a homicidal lunaticlike Blink, and it wasn't anything to getvain over.

Pink slammed the door upon their jibesand offered Andy a cigarette he had justrolled; not that Andy was too sick to rollhis own, but because Pink was notablysoft-hearted toward a sick man and wasprone to indulge himself in triflingattentions.

"Yuh don't want to mind that bunch," heplacated. "They mean all right, but theyjust can't help joshing a man to death."

Andy accepted also a light for thecigarette, and smoked moodily. "It ain'ttheir joshing," he explained after a minute

"It's puzzling over what I can't understandthat gets on my nerves. I can't see throughthe thing, Pink, no way I look at it."

"Looks plain enough to me," Pinkanswered. "Uh course, it's funny Blinkshould be the man, and be setting therelistening—"

"Yes, but darn it all, Pink, there's a funnierside to it than that, and it's near driving mecrazy trying to figure it out. Yuh needn'ttell anybody, Pink, but it's like this: I wasjust merely and simply romancing when Itold that there blood-curdling tale! I neverwas south uh the Wyoming line exceptwhen I was riding in a circus and touredthrough, and that's the truth. I never wasdown in the San Simon basin. I never seton no pinnacle with no field glasses—"

Andy stopped short his labored confessionto gaze, with deep disgust, upon Pink'sconvulsed figure. "Well," he snapped,settling back on the pillow, "laugh, darnyuh! and show your ignorance! Bygracious, I wish I could see the joke!" Hereached up gingerly and readjusted thebandage on his head, eyed Pink sourly amoment, and with a grunt eloquent of themood he was in turned his face to thewall.

MISS MARTIN'SMISSION

When Andy Green, fresh-combed andshining with soap and towel polish,walked into the dining-room of the DryLake Hotel, he felt not the slightestpremonition of what was about to befall.His chief sensation was the hunger whichcomes of early rising and of many hoursspent in the open, and beyond that he washoping that the Chinaman cook had madesome meat-pie, like he had the weekbefore. His eyes, searching unobtrusivelythe long table bearing the unmistakablesigns of many other hungry men gone

before—for Andy was late—failed towarn him. He pulled out his chair and satdown, still looking for meat-pie.

"Good afternoon!" cried an eager,feminine voice just across the table.

Andy started guiltily. He had been dimlyaware that some one was sitting there, but,being occupied with other things, had notgiven a thought to the sitter, or a glance.Now he did both while he said goodafternoon with perfunctory politeness.

"Such a beautiful day, isn't it? soinvigorating, like rare, old wine!"

Andy assented somewhat dubiously; it hadnever just struck him that way; he thoughtfleetingly that perhaps it was because he

had never come across any rare, old wine.He ventured another glance. She was notyoung, and she wore glasses, behindwhich twinkled very bright eyes of ashade of brown. She had unpleasantlyregular hair waves on her temples, andunderneath the waves showed streaks ofgray. Also, she wore a black silk waist,and somebody's picture made into abrooch at her throat. Further, Andy darednot observe. It was enough for one glance.He looked again for the much-desiredmeat-pie.

The strange lady ingratiatingly passed himthe bread. "You're a cowboy, aren't you?"was the disconcerting question thataccompanied the bread.

"Well, I—er—I punch cows," he admitted

guardedly, his gaze elsewhere than on herface.

"I knew you were a cowboy, the momentyou entered the door! I could tell by thetan and the straight, elastic walk, and thesilk handkerchief knotted around yourthroat in that picturesque fashion. (Oh, I'molder than you, and dare speak as I think!)I've read a great deal about cowboys, andI do admire you all as a type of free,great-hearted, noble manhood!"

Andy looked exactly as if someone hadcaught him at something exceedinglyfoolish. He tried to sugar his coffeecalmly, and so sent it sloshing all over thesaucer.

"Do you live near here?" she asked next,

beaming upon him in the orthodox,motherly fashion.

"Yes, ma'am, not very near," he wasbetrayed into saying—and she might makewhat she could of it. He had not said"ma'am" before since he had gone toschool.

"Oh, I've heard how you Western folksmeasure distances," she teased. "Abouthow many miles?"

"About twenty."

"I suppose that is not far, to you knights ofthe plains. At home it would be called adreadfully long journey. Why, I haveknown numbers of old men and womenwho have never been so far from their

own doors in their lives! What would youthink, I wonder, of their little forty acrefarms?"

Andy had been brought to his sixteenthtumultuous birthday on a half-acre in theedge of a good-sized town, but he did notsay so. He shook his head vaguely andsaid he didn't know. Andy Green,however, was not famous for clingingever to the truth.

"You out here in this great, wide, freeland, with the free winds ever blowingand the clouds—"

"Will you pass the butter, please?" Andyhated to interrupt, but he was hungry.

The strange lady passed the butter and sent

with it a smile. "I have read and heard somuch about this wild, free life, and myheart has gone out to the noble fellowsliving their lonely life with their cattle andtheir faithful dogs, lying beside theircamp-fires at night while the stars stoodguard—"

Andy forgot his personal embarrassmentand began to perk up his ears. This wasgrowing interesting.

"—And I have felt how lonely they mustbe, with their rude fare and few pleasures,and what a field there must be among themfor a great and noble work; to uplift themand bring into their lonely lives a broader,deeper meaning; to help them to helpthemselves to be better, nobler men andwomen—"

"We don't have any lady cowpunchers outhere," interposed Andy mildly.

The strange lady had merely gone astray abit, being accustomed to addressingMothers' Meetings and the like. Sherecovered herself easily. "Nobler men, thebulwarks of our nation." She stopped andeyed Andy archly. Andy, having observedthat her neck was scrawny, with certaincords down the sides that movedunpleasantly when she talked, tried not tolook.

"I wonder if you can guess what brings meout here, away from home and friends!Can you guess?"

Andy thought of several things, but hecould not feel that it would be polite to

mention them. Agent for complexion stuff,for instance, and next to that, wanting ahusband. He shook his head again andlooked at his potato.

"You can't guess?" The tone was the onecommonly employed for theencouragement, and consequentdemoralization of, a primary class. Andyrealized that he was being talked down to,and his combativeness awoke. "Well,away back in my home town, a woman'sclub has been thinking of all you lonelyfellows, and have felt their hearts swellwith a desire to help you—so far fromhome and mother's influence, with only thecoarse pleasures of the West, and amid allthe temptations that lie in wait—" Shecaught herself back from speech-making

—"and they have sent me—away out here—to be your friend; to help you to helpyourselves become better, truer men and—" She did not say women, though, poorsoul, she came near it. "So, I am going tobe your friend. I want to get in touch withyou all, first; to win your confidence andteach you to look upon me in the light of amother. Then, when I have won yourconfidence, I want to organize a Cowboys'Mutual Improvement and Social Society,to help you in the way of self-improvement and to resist the snares laidfor homeless boys like you. Don't youthink I'm very—brave?" She was smilingat him again, leaning back in her chair andregarding him playfully over her glasses.

"You sure are," Andy assented,

deliberately refraining from saying "yes,ma'am," as had been his impulse.

"To come away out here—all alone—among all you wild cowboys with yourguns buckled on and your wicked littlemustangs—Are you sure you won't shootme?"

Andy eyed her pityingly. If she meant it, hethought, she certainly was wabbly in hermind. If she thought that was the only kindof talk he could savvy, then she was ablamed idiot; either way, he feltantagonistic. "The law shall be respectedin your case," he told her, very gravely.

She smiled almost as if she could see thejoke; after which she became twitteringly,eagerly in earnest. "Since you live near

here, you must know the Whitmores. MissWhitmore came out here, two or threeyears ago, and married her brother'scoachman, I believe—though I've heardconflicting stories about it; some havesaid he was an artist, and others that hewas a jockey, or horse-trainer. I heard toothat he was a cowboy; but Miss Whitmorecertainly wrote about this young mandriving her brother's carriage. However,she is married and I have a letter ofintroduction to her. The president of ourclub used to be a schoolmate of hermother. I shall stop with them—I haveheard so much about the Westernhospitality—and shall get into touch withmy cowboys from the vantage point ofproximity. Did you say you know them?"

"I work for them," Andy told her truthfullyin his deep amazement, and immediatelyrepented and wished that he had not beenso virtuous. With Andy, to wish was to do—given the opportunity.

"Then I can go with you out to their farm—ranchero! How nice! And on the wayyou can tell me all about yourself and yourlife and hopes—because I do want to getin touch with you all, you know—and I'lltell you all my plans for you; I have somebeautiful plans! And we'll be very goodfriends by the time we reach ourdestination, I'm sure. I want you to feelfrom the start that I am a true friend, andthat I have your welfare very much atheart. Without the confidence of mycowboys, I can do nothing. Are there any

more at home like you?"

Andy looked at her suspiciously, but itwas so evident she never meant to quotecomic opera, that he merely wonderedanew. He struggled feebly againsttemptation, and fell from grace quitewillingly. It isn't polite to "throw a load"at a lady, but then Andy felt that neitherwas it polite for a lady to come out withthe avowed intention of improving himand his fellows; it looked to him likebutting in where she was not wanted, orneeded.

"Yes, ma'am, there's quite a bunch, andthey're pretty bad. I don't believe you cando much for 'em." He spoke regretfully.

"Do they—drink?" she asked, leaning

forward and speaking in the hushed voicewith which some women approach atabooed subject.

"Yes ma'am, they do. They're harddrinkers. And they"—he eyed herspeculatively, trying to guess the worstsins in her category—"they play cards—gamble—and swear, and smoke cigarettesand—"

"All the more need of someone to helpthem overcome," she decided solemnly."What you need is a coffee-house andreading room here, so that the young menwill have some place to go other than thesaloons. I shall see to that right away. Andwith the Mutual Improvement and SocialSociety organized and working smoothly,and a library of standard works for

recreation, together with earnest personalefforts to promote temperance and clean-living, I feel that a wonderful work can bedone. I saw you drive into town, so Iknow you can take me out with you; I hopeyou are going to start soon. I feel veryimpatient to reach the field and put mysickle to the harvest."

Andy mentally threw up his hands beforethis unshakable person. He had meant totell her that he had come on horseback, butshe had forestalled him. He had meant todiscourage her—head her off, he called itto himself. But there seemed no way ofdoing it. He pushed back his chair androse, though he had not tasted his pie, andit was lemon pie at that. He had some faintnotion of hurrying out of town and home

before she could have time to get ready;but she followed him to the door andchirped over his shoulder that it wouldn'ttake her two minutes to put on her wraps.Andy groaned.

He tried—or started to try—holding out atRusty Brown's till she gave up in despair;but it occurred to him that Chip had askedhim to hurry back. Andy groaned again,and got the team.

She did not wait for him to drive aroundto the hotel for her; possibly she suspectedhis intentions. At any rate, she camenipping down the street toward the stablejust as he was hooking the last trace, andshe was all ready and had a load of bagsand bundles.

"I'm not going to begin by making troublefor you," she twittered. "I thought I couldjust as well come down here to the wagonas have you drive back to the hotel. Andmy trunk did not come on the train withme, so I'm all ready."

Andy, having nothing in mind that he daredsay to a lady, helped her into the wagon.

At sundown or thereabouts—for the dayswere short and he had a load of variousthings besides care—Andy let himselfwearily into the bunk-house where wasassembled the Happy Family. He merelygrunted when they spoke to him, and threwhimself heavily down upon his bunk.

"For Heaven's sake, somebody roll me acigarette! I'm too wore out to do a thing,

and I haven't had a smoke since dinner,"he groaned, after a minute.

"Sick?" asked Pink solicitously.

"Sick as a dog! water, water!" moanedAndy. All at once he rolled over upon hisface and shook with laughter more than alittle hysterical, and to the questioning ofthe Happy Family gave no answer buthowls. The Happy Family began to look atone another uneasily.

"Aw, let up!" Happy Jack bellowed. "Yougive a man the creeps just to listen at yuh."

"I'm going to empty the water-bucket overyuh in a minute," Pink threatened, "Go getit, Cal; it's half full."

Andy knew well the metal of which the

Happy Family was made, and the nightwas cool for a ducking. He rolled back sothat they could see his face, and struggledfor calm. In a minute he sat up and merelygurgled.

"Well, say, I had to do something or die,"he explained, gasping. "I've gone through aheap, the last few hours, and I was rightwhere I couldn't do a thing. By gracious, Istruck the ranch about as near bug-houseas a man can get and recover. Where's acigarette?"

"What you've gone through—and I don'tgive a cuss what it is—ain't a marker forwhat's going to happen if yuh don't loosenup on the history," said Jack Bates firmly.

Andy smoked hungrily while he surveyed

the lot. "How calm and innocent yuh alllook," he observed musingly, "with yourhats on and saying words that's rude, andsmoking the vile weed regardless, neverdreaming what's going to drop, pretty soonquick. Yuh make me think of a hymn-songmy step-mother used to sing a lot, about'They dreamed not of danger, those sinnersof old, whom—"

"Hand me the water bucket," directed Pinkmusically.

"Oh, well—take it from the shoulder, then;I was only trying to lead up to it gradual,but yuh will have it raw. You poor, dearcowboys, that live your lonely liveswatching over your cattle with yourfaithful dogs and the stars for company,you're going to be improved. (You'll sure

stand a lot of it, too!) A woman's reliefclub back East has felt the burden of yourno-accountness and general orneriness,and has sent one of its leading membersout here to reform yuh. You're going to behazed into a Cowboys' MutualImprovement and Social Society, and quitsmoking cigarettes and cussing yourhosses and laying over Rusty's bar whenyuh ride into town; and for pleasure andrecreation you're going to read Tennyson'spoems, and when yuh get caught out in ablizzard yuh'll be heeled with Whittier'sSnowbound, pocket edition. Emerson andBrowning and Shakespeare and Gatty"(Andy misquoted; he meant Goethe) "andall them stiffs is going to be set before yuhregular and in your mind constant, purgingit of unclean thoughts, and grammar is

going to be learnt yuh as a side-line. Yuh—"

"Mama mine," broke in Weary. "I havethought sometimes, when Andy brokeloose with that imagination uh his, thathe'd gone the limit; but next time healways raises the limit out uh sight. He'slike the Good Book says: he's prone to lieas the sparks fly-upward."

Andy gazed belligerently at the skepticalgroup. "I brought her out from town," hesaid doggedly, "and whilst I own up tohaving an imagination, she's stranger thanfiction. She'd make the fellow that wrote"She" lay down with a headache. She'scome out here to help us cowboys livenobler, better lives. She's going to learnyuh Browning, darn yuh! and Emerson and

Gatty. She said so. She's going to fill yourhearts with love for dumb creatures, sowhen yuh get set afoot out on the range, oranything like that, yuh won't put in yourtime cussing the miles between you andcamp; you'll have a pocket edition of'Much Ado About Nothing' to read, or thespeech Mark Anthony made when he wasrunning for office. Or supposing yuh left'em all in camp, yuh'll study nature.

There's sermons in stones, she says. She'sgoing to send for a pocket library that caneasy be took on roundup—"

"Say, I guess that's about enough,"interrupted Pink restlessly. "We all admityou're the biggest liar that ever come Westof the Mississippi, without you laying iton any deeper."

Whereupon Andy rose in wrath and madea suggestive movement with his fist. "If Iwas romancing," he declared indignantly,"I'd do a smoother job; when I do lie, Inotice yuh all believe it—till yuh find outdifferent. And by gracious yuh might do asmuch when I'm telling the truth! Go up tothe White House and see, darn yuh! If yuhdon't find Miss Verbena Martin up theretelling the Little Doctor how her heartgoes out to her dear cowboys and howshe's going to get in touch with 'em andhelp 'em lead nobler, better lives, you cankick me all round the yard. And I hope, bygracious, she does improve yuh! Yuh suredo need it a lot."

The Happy Family discussed the talefreely and without regard for the feelings

of Andy; they even became heated andimpolite, and they made threats. They saidthat a liar like him ought to be lynched orgagged, and that he was a disgrace to theoutfit. In the end, however, they decided togo and see, just to prove to Andy that theyknew he lied. And though it was settledthat Weary and Pink should be theinvestigating committee, by the time theywere halfway to the White House they hadthe whole Happy Family trailing at theirheels. A light snow had begun to fall sincedark, and they hunched their shouldersagainst it as they went. Groupeduncomfortably just outside the circle oflight cast through the unshaded window,they gazed silently in upon Chip and theLittle Doctor and J.G. Whitmore, and uponone other; a strange lady in a black silk

shirtwaist and a gold watch suspendedfrom her neck by a chaste, black silkencord; a strange lady with symmetricalwaves in her hair and gray on her temples,and with glasses and an eager way ofspeaking.

She was talking very rapidly andanimatedly, and the others were listeningand stealing glances now and then at oneanother. Once, while they watched, theLittle Doctor looked at Chip and thenturned her face toward the window. Shewas biting her lips in the way the HappyFamily had learned to recognize as a greatdesire to laugh. It all looked suspiciousand corroborative of Andy's story, and theHappy Family shifted their feet uneasily inthe loose snow.

They watched, and saw the strange ladyclasp her hands together and lean forward,and where her voice had before come tothem with no words which they couldcatch distinctly, they heard her saysomething quite clearly in her enthusiasm:"Eight real cowboys here, almost withinreach! I must see them before I sleep! Imust get in touch with them at once, andshow them that I am a true friend. Come,Mrs. Bennett! Won't you take me wherethey are and let me meet my boys? for theyare mine in spirit; my heart goes out tothem—"

The Happy Family waited to hear nomore, but went straightway back whencethey had come, and their going savored offlight.

"Mama mine! she's coming down to thebunkhouse!" said Weary under his breath,and glanced back over his shoulder at theWhite House bulking large in the night."Let's go on down to the stable and roostin the hay a while."

"She'll out-wind us, and be right therewaiting when we come back," objectedAndy, with the wisdom gained from hisbrief acquaintance with the lady. "If she'smade up her mind to call on us, there's noway under Heaven to head her off."

They halted by the bunk-house door,undecided whether to go in or to stay outin the open.

"By golly, she don't improve me!" Slimasserted pettishly. "I hate books like

strychnine, and, by golly, she can't makeme read 'em, neither."

"If there's anything I do despise it'spo'try," groaned Cal Emmett.

"Emerson and Browning and Shakespeareand Gatty," named Andy gloomily.

Whereat Pink suddenly pushed open thedoor and went in as goes one who knowsexactly what he is about to do. Theyfollowed him distressfully and silently.Pink went immediately to his bunk andbegan pulling off his boots.

"I'm going to bed," he told them. "Youfellows can stay up and entertain her ifyuh want to—I won't!"

They caught the idea and disrobed hastily,

though the evening was young. Irish blewout the lamp and dove under the blanketsjust as voices came faintly from up thehill, so that when Chip rapped a warningwith his knuckles on the door, there wasno sound within save an artificial snorefrom the corner where lay Pink. Chip wasnot in the habit of knocking before heentered, but he repeated the summons withemphasis.

"Who's there-e?" drawled sleepily a voice—the voice of Weary.

"Oh, I do believe they've retired!" came,in a perturbed feminine tone, to thelistening ears of the Happy Family.

"Gone to bed?" cried Chip gravely.

"Hours ago," lied Andy fluently. "We'replumb wore out. What's happened?"

"Oh, don't disturb the poor fellows!They're tired and need their rest," camethe perturbed tone again. After that thevoices and the footsteps went up the hillagain, and the Happy Family breathedfreer. Incidentally, Pink stopped snoringand made a cigarette.

Going to bed at seven-thirty or thereaboutswas not the custom of the Happy Family,but they stayed under the covers andsmoked and discussed the situation. Theydared not have a light, and the night waslonger than they had ever known a night tobe, for it was late before they slept. It waswell that Miss Verbena Martin could notoverhear their talk, which was

unchivalrous and unfriendly in theextreme. The general opinion seemed tobe that old maid improvers would betterstay at home where they might possibly bewelcome, and that when the Happy Familywanted improving they would let herknow. Cal Emmett said that he wouldn'tmind, if they had only sent a young, prettyone. Happy Jack prophesied plenty oftrouble, and boasted that she couldn't haulhim into no s'ciety. Slim declared againthat by golly, she wouldn't do noimproving on him, and the others—Wearyand Irish and Pink and Jack Bates andAndy—discussed ways and means andfailed always to agree. When each onehoots derision at all plans but his own, itis easy guessing what will be the result. Inthis particular instance the result was

voices raised in argument—voices thatreached Chip, grinning and listening on theporch of the White House—and tardyslumber overtaking a disgruntled HappyFamily on the brink of violence.

It was not a particularly happy Family thatwoke to memory and a snowy Sunday;woke late, because of the disturbingevening. When they spoke to one anothertheir voices were but growls, and whenthey trailed through the snow to theirbreakfast they went in moody silence.

They had just brightened a bit beforePatsy's Sunday breakfast, which includedhot-cakes and maple syrup, when the doorwas pushed quietly open and the LittleDoctor came in, followed closely by MissMartin; an apologetic Little Doctor, who

seemed, by her very manner of entering, toimplore them not to blame her for theintrusion. Miss Martin was not apologetic.She was disconcertingly eager and glad tomeet them, and pathetically anxious to wintheir favor.

Miss Martin talked, and the Happy Familyate hurriedly and with lowered eyelids.Miss Martin asked questions, and theHappy Family kicked one another's shinsunder the table by way of urging someoneto reply; for this reason there was a quiteperceptible pause between question andanswer, and the answer was invariably"the soul of wit"—according to thatfamous recipe. Miss Martin told themnaively all about her hopes and her plansand herself, and about the distant woman's

club that took so great an interest in theirwelfare, and the Happy Family listeneddejectedly and tried to be polite. Also,they did not relish the hot-cakes as usual,and Patsy had half the batter left when themeal was over, instead of being obliged tomix more, as was usually the case.

When they had eaten, the Happy Familyfiled out decorously and went hastilydown to the stables. They did not saymuch, but they did glance over theirshoulders uneasily once or twice.

"The old girl is sure hot on our trail," Pinkremarked when they were safely throughthe big gate. "She must uh got us mixed upwith some Wild West show, in her mind.Josephine!"

"Well, by golly, she don't improve me,"Slim repeated for about the tenth time.

The horses were all fed and everythingtidy for the day, and several saddles werebeing hauled down significantly from theirpegs, when Irish delivered himself of aspeech, short but to the point. Irish hadbeen very quiet and had taken no part inthe discussion that had waxed hot all thatmorning.

"Now, see here," he said in his decidedway. "Maybe it didn't strike you asanything but funny—which it sure is. Butyuh want to remember that the old girl hascome a dickens of a long ways to do ussome good. She's been laying awakenights thinking about how we'll get tocalling her something nice: Angel of the

Roundup, maybe—you can't tell, she's thatromantic. And right here is where I'mgoing to give the old girl the worth of hermoney. It won't hurt us, letting her talkwild and foolish at us once a week,maybe; and the poor old thing'll just betickled to death thinking what a lot uhgood she's doing. She won't stay long, and—well, I go in. If she'll feel better andmore good to the world improving me,she's got my permission. I guess I canstand it a while."

The Happy Family looked at him queerly,for if there was a black sheep in the flock,Irish was certainly the man; and to haveIrish take the stand he did was, to say theleast, unexpected.

Cal Emmett blurted the real cause of their

astonishment. "You'll have to sign thepledge, first pass," he said. "That's goingto be the ante in her game. How—"

"Well, I don't play nobody's hand, or stakeanybody's chips, but my own," Irishretorted, the blood showing under the tanon his cheeks.

"And we won't das't roll a cigarette, even,by golly!" reminded Slim. For MissMartin, whether intentionally or not, hadmade plain to them the platform of the newsociety.

Irish got some deep creases between hiseyebrows, and put back his saddle. "Youcan do as yuh like," he said, coldly. "I'mgoing to stay and go to meeting thisafternoon, according to her invite. If it's

going to make that poor old freak feel anybetter thinking she's a real missionary—"He turned and walked out of the stablewithout finishing the sentence, and theHappy Family stood quite still andwatched him go.

Pink it was who first spoke. "I ain't theboy to let any long-legged son-of-a-gunlike Irish hit a gait I can't follow," hedimpled, and took the saddle reluctantlyoff Toots. "If he can stand it, I guess Ican."

Weary loosened his latigo. "IfCadwolloper is going to learn poetry, Iwill, too," he grinned. "Mama! it'll begood as a three-ringed circus! I neverthought uh that, before. I couldn't miss it."

"Oh, well, if you fellows take a hand, I'llsure have to be there to see," Andydecided. "Two o'clock, did she say?"

"I hate to be called a quitter," Pinkremarked dispiritedly to the Happy Familyin general; a harassed looking HappyFamily, which sat around and said little,and watched the clock. In an hour theywould be due to attend the second meetingof the M.I.S.S.—and one would think,from the look of them, that they were aboutto be hanged. "I hate to be called a quitter,but right here's where I lay 'em down. Therest of yuh can go on being improved, ifyuh want to—darned if I will, though. I'mall in."

"I don't recollect hearing anybody say wewanted to," growled Jack Bates. "Irish,maybe, is still burning with a desire to benice and chivalrous; but you can count meout. One dose is about all I can stand."

"By golly, I wouldn't go and feel thatfoolish again, not if yuh paid me for it,"Slim declared.

Irish grinned and reached for his hat. "Idone my damnettest," he said cheerfully. "Imade the old girl happy once; now, oneIrish Mallory is due to have a little joycoming his way. I'm going to town."

"'Break, break, break, on thy cold,gray crags, oh sea,And I would that my tongue couldutter the thoughts that come over

me.'

"You will observe, gentlemen, thebeautiful sentiment, the euphoniousrhythm, the noble—" Weary went down,still declaiming mincingly, beneath fourirate bodies that hurled themselves towardhim and upon him.

"We'll break, break, break every bone inyour body if you don't shut up. You willobserve the beautiful sentiment of that awhile," cried Pink viciously. "I've had theeuphonious rhythm of my sleep broke upever since I set there and listened at herfor two hours. Josephine!"

Irish stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "I was the jay that started it," headmitted contritely. "But, honest, I never

had a hunch she was plumb locoed; Ithought she was just simply foolish. Comeon to town, boys!"

Such is the power of suggestion that infifteen minutes the Happy Family hadpassed out of sight over the top of thegrade; all save Andy Green, who toldthem he would be along after a while, andthat they need not wait. He looked at theclock, smoked a meditative cigarette andwent up to the White House, to attend thesecond meeting of the MutualImprovement and Social Society.

When he faced alone Miss VerbenaMartin, and explained that the othermembers were unavoidably absentbecause they had a grudge against a man inDry Lake and had gone in to lynch him and

burn the town, Miss Martin was shockedinto postponing the meeting. Andy said hewas glad, because he wanted to go in andsee the fight; undoubtedly, he assured her,there would be a fight, and probably a fewof them would get killed off. He remindedher that he had told her right in the startthat they were a bad lot, and that shewould have hard work reforming them;and finally, he made her promise that shewould not mention to anyone what he hadtold her, because it wouldn't be safe forhim, or for her, if they ever got to hear ofit. After that Andy also took the trail totown, and he went at a gallop and smiledas he rode.

Miss Martin reflected shudderingly uponthe awful details of the crime, as hinted at

by Andy, and packed her trunk. It might bebrave and noble to stay and work amongall those savages, but she doubted muchwhether it were after all her duty. Shethought of many ways in which she coulddo more real good nearer home. She hadfelt all along that these cowboys were anuntrustworthy lot; she had noticed themglancing at one another in a secret andtreacherous manner, all through the lastmeeting, and she was positive they had notgiven her that full confidence withoutwhich no good can be accomplished. Thatfellow they called Happy looked capableof almost any crime; she had never feltquite safe in his presence.

Miss Martin pictured them howling anddancing around the burning dwellings of

their enemies, shooting every one theycould see; Miss Martin had imagination,of a sort. But while she pictured thehorrors of an Indian massacre shecontinued to pack her suit-case and toconsult often her watch. When she coulddo no more it occurred to her that shewould better see if someone could takeher to the station. Fortunately for allconcerned, somebody could. One might gofurther and say that somebody was quitewilling to strain a point, even, in order toget her there in time for the next train.

The Happy Family was gathered in RustyBrown's place, watching Irish do things toa sheep-man from Lonesome Prairie, in agame of pool. They were just giving vent

to a prolonged whoop of derision at thesheep-man's play, when a rig flashed bythe window. Weary stopped with hismouth wide open and stared; leaned to thewindow and craned to see more clearly.

"Mama mine!" he ejaculatedincredulously. "I could swear I saw MissVerbena in that rig, with her trunk, andheaded towards the depot. Feel my pulse,Cadwolloper, and see if I'm normal."

But Pink was on his way to the back door,and from there climbed like a cat to theroof of the coal-house, where, as he knewfrom experience, one could see the trail tothe depot, and the depot itself.

"It's sure her," he announced. "Chip'sdriving like hell, and the smoke uh the

train's just coming around the bend fromthe big field. Wonder what struck her sosudden?" He turned and looked down intothe grinning face of Andy Green.

"She was real insulted because youfellows played hookey," Andy explained."I tried to explain, but it didn't help none. Idon't believe her heart went out to us likeshe claimed, anyhow."

HAPPY JACK, WILDMAN.

Happy Jack, over on the Shonkin range,saw how far it was to the river andmopped the heat-crimsoned face of himwith a handkerchief not quite as clean as itmight have been. He hoped that the FlyingU wagons would be where he hadestimated that they would be; for he wasaweary of riding with a strange outfit,where his little personal peculiaritiesfailed to meet with that large toleranceaccorded by the Happy Family. He didn'tthink much of the Shonkin crew; grangersand pilgrims, he called them disgustedly

in his mind. He hoped the Old Man wouldnot send him on that long trip with themsouth of the Highwoods—which is whathe was on his way to find out about. WhatHappy Jack was hoping for, was to havethe Old Man—as represented by Chip—send one of the boys back with him tobring over what Flying U cattle had beengathered, together with Happy's bed andstring of horses. Then he would ride withthe Happy Family on the familiar rangethat was better, in his eyes, than any otherrange that ever lay outdoors—and theShonkin outfit could go to granny. (Happydid not, however, say "granny").

He turned down the head of a couleewhich promised to lead him, by the mostdirect route—if any route in the Badlands

can be called direct—to the river, acrosswhich, and a few miles up on SuctionCreek, he confidently expected to find theFlying U wagons. The coulee woundaimlessly, with precipitous sides that hecould not climb, even by leading hishorse. Happy Jack, under the swelteringheat of mid-June sunlight, once moremopped his face, now more crimson thanever, and relapsed into his habitual gloom.Just when he was telling himselfpessimistically that the chances were hewould run slap out on a cut bank where hecouldn't get down to the river at all, thecoulee turned again and showed the gray-blue water slithering coolly past, with thefar bank green and sloping invitingly.

The horse hurried forward at a shuffling

trot and thrust his hot muzzle into thedelicious coolness. Happy Jack slippedoff and, lying flat on his stomach, up-stream from the horse, drank deep andlong, then stood up, wiped his face andconsidered the necessity of crossing. Justat this point the river was not so wide asin others, and for that reason the currentflowed swiftly past. Not too swiftly,however, if one took certain precautions.Happy Jack measured mentally thestrength of the current and the properamount of caution which it would beexpedient to use, and began hispreparations; for the sun was sliding downhill toward the western skyline, and hewished very much to reach the wagons intime for supper, if he could.

Standing in the shade of the coulee wall,he undressed deliberately, folding eachgarment methodically as he took it off.When the pile was complete to socks andboots, he rolled it into a compact bundleand tied it firmly upon his saddle.Stranger, his horse, was a good swimmer,and always swam high out of water. Hehoped the things would not get very wet;still, the current was strong, and hischaracteristic pessimism suggested thatthey would be soaked to the last thread.So, naked as our first ancestor, he urgedhis horse into the stream, and when it wastoo deep for kicking—Stranger was everuncertain and not to be trusted too far—hecaught him firmly by the tail and felt thecurrent grip them both. The feel of thewater was glorious after so long a ride in

the hot sun, and Happy Jack reveled in thecool swash of it up his shoulders to theback of his neck, as Stranger swam outand across to the sloping, green bank onthe home side. When his feet struckbottom, Happy Jack should have wadedalso—but the water was so deliciouslycool, slapping high up on his shoulderslike that; he still floated luxuriously,towed by Stranger—until Stranger, hisfooting secure, glanced back at Happysliding behind like a big, red fish, snortedand plunged up and on to dry land.

Happy Jack struck his feet down tobottom, stumbled and let go his hold of thetail, and Stranger, feeling the weightloosen suddenly, gave another plunge andwent careering up the bank, snorting back

at Happy Jack. Happy swore, waded outand made threats, but Stranger, seeinghimself pursued by a strange figure whoseonly resemblance to his master lay invoice and profanity, fled in terror beforehim.

Happy Jack, crippling painfully on thestones, fled fruitlessly after, still shoutingthreats. Then, as Stranger, gallopingwildly, disappeared over a ridge, he stoodand stared stupidly at the place where thehorse had last been seen. For the momenthis mind refused to grasp all the horror ofhis position; he stepped gingerly over thehot sand and rocks, sought the shelter of abit of overhanging bank, and sat dazedlydown upon a rock too warm for comfort.He shifted uneasily to the sand beside,

found that still hotter, and returned to therock.

He needed to think; to grasp this disasterthat had come so suddenly upon him. Helooked moodily across to the southernbank, his chin sunken between moistpalms, the while the water dried upon hisperson. To be set afoot, down here in theBadlands, away from the habitations ofmen and fifteen miles from the probablelocation of the Flying U camp, was notnice. To be set afoot naked—it washorrible, and unbelievable. He thought oftramping, barefooted and bare-legged,through fifteen miles of sage-coveredBadlands to camp, with the sun beatingdown on his unprotected back, andgroaned in anticipation. Not even his

pessimism had ever pictured a thing soterrible.

He gazed at the gray-blue river which hadcaused this trouble that he must face, andforgetting the luxury of its coolness,cursed it venomously. Little waveswashed up on the pebbly bank, and glintedin the sun while they whispered mockingthings to him. Happy Jack gave overswearing at the river, and turned his wrathupon Stranger—Stranger, hurtling alongsomewhere through the breaks, with allHappy's clothes tied firmly to the saddle.Happy Jack sighed lugubriously when heremembered how firmly. A fleeting hopethat, if he followed the trail of Stranger, hemight glean a garment or two that hadslipped loose, died almost before it lived.

Happy Jack knew too well the kind ofknots he always tied. His favorite boastthat nothing ever worked loose on hissaddle, came back now to mock him withits absolute truth.

The sun, dropping a bit lower, robbed himinch by inch of the shade to which heclung foolishly. He hunched himself intoas small a space as his big frame wouldpermit, and hung his hat upon his kneeswhere they stuck out into the sunlight. Itwas very hot, and his position wascramped, but he would not go yet; he wasstill thinking—and the brain of HappyJack worked ever slowly. In such anunheard-of predicament he felt dimly thathe had need of much thought.

When not even his hat could shield him

from the sun glare, he got up and wentnipping awkwardly over the hot beach. Hewas going into the next river-bottom—wherever that was—on the chance offinding a cow-camp, or some cabin wherehe could, by some means, clothe himself.He did not like the idea of facing theHappy Family in his present condition; heknew the Happy Family. Perhaps he mightfind someone living down here next theriver. He hoped so—for Happy Jack,when things were so bad they could notwell be worse, was forced to give overthe prediction of further evil, and pursueblindly the faintest whisper of hope. Hegot up on the bank, where the grass waskinder to his unaccustomed feet than werethe hot stones below, and hurried awaywith his back to the sun, that scorched him

cruelly.

In the next bottom—and he was longgetting to it—the sage brush grewdishearteningly thick. Happy began to beafraid of snakes. He went slowly, steppingpainfully where the ground seemedsmoothest; he never could walk fifteenmiles in his bare feet, he owned dismallyto himself. His only hope lay in gettingclothes.

Halfway down the bottom, he joyfullycame upon a camp, but it had long beendeserted; from the low, tumble-downcorrals, and the unmistakable atmosphereof the place, Happy Jack knew it for asheep camp. But nothing save the mustyodor and the bare cabin walls seemed tohave been left behind. He searched

gloomily, thankful for the brief shade thecabin offered. Then, tossed up on therafters and forgotten, he discovered acouple of dried sheep pelts, untanned andstiff, almost, as shingles. Still, they werebetter than nothing, and he grinned insickly fashion at the find.

Realizing, in much pain, that someprotection for his feet was an absolutenecessity, he tore a pelt in two forsandals. Much search resulted in thediscovery of a bit of rotted rope, which heunraveled and thereby bound a piece ofsheepskin upon each bruised foot. Theywere not pretty, but they answered thepurpose. The other pelt he disposed ofeasily by tying the two front legs togetheraround his neck and letting the pelt hang

down his back as far as it would reach.There being nothing more that he could doin the way of self-adornment, Happy Jackwent out again into the hot afternoon. Athis best, Happy Jack could never truthfullybe called handsome; just now, clothedinadequately in gray Stetson hat and twomeager sheepskins, he looked scarcehuman.

Cheered a bit, he set out sturdily over thehills toward the mouth of Suction Creek.The Happy Family would make all kindsof fools of themselves, he supposed, if heshowed up like this; but he might not beobliged to appear before them in hispresent state of undress; he might strikesome other camp, first. Happy Jack wasstill forced to be hopeful. He quite

counted on striking another camp beforereaching the wagons of the Flying U.

The sun slid farther and farther toward thewestern rim of tumbled ridges as HappyJack, in his strange raiment, ploddedlaboriously to the north. The mantle hewas forced to shift constantly into a newposition as the sun's rays burned deep anew place, or the stiff hide galled hisblistered shoulders. The sandals didbetter, except that the rotten strands ofrope were continually wearing through onthe bottom, so that he must stop and tiefresh knots, or replace the bit from thescant surplus which he had prudentlybrought along.

Till sundown he climbed toilfully up thesteep hills and then scrambled as toilfully

into the coulees, taking the straightestcourse he knew for the mouth of SuctionCreek; that, as a last resort, while hewatched keenly for the white flake againstgreen which would tell of a tent pitchedthere in the wilderness. He was hungry—when he forgot other discomforts longenough to think of it. Worst, perhaps, wasthe way in which the gaunt sage brushscratched his unclothed legs when he wascompelled to cross a patch on somecoulee bottom. Happy Jack swore a greatdeal, in those long, heat-laden hours, andnever did he so completely belie the namemen had in sarcasm given him.

Just when he was given over to the mostgloomy forebodings, a white square stoodout for a moment sharply against a

background of pines, far below him in acoulee where the sun was peeringfleetingly before it dove out of sight overa hill. Happy Jack—of a truth, the mostunhappy Jack one could find, though hesearched far and long—stood still andeyed the white patch critically. There wasonly the one; but another might be hiddenin the trees. Still, there was no herdgrazing anywhere in the coulee, and nojingle of cavvy bells came to his ears,though he listened long. He was sure thatit was not the camp of the Flying U, wherehe would be ministered unto faithfully, tobe sure, yet where the ministrations wouldbe mingled with much wit-sharpenedraillery harder even to bear than was hispresent condition of sun-blisters andscratches. He thanked the Lord in sincere

if unorthodox terms, and went down thehill in long, ungraceful strides.

It was far down that hill, and it wasfarther across the coulee. Each step grewmore wearisome to Happy Jack,unaccustomed as he was to using his ownfeet as a mode of travel. But away in theedge of the pine grove were food andraiment, and a shelter from the night thatwas creeping down on him with thehurried stealth of a mountain lion after itsquarry. He shifted the sheepskin mantlefor the thousandth time; this time he untiedit from his galled shoulders and festoonedit modestly if unbecomingly about hismiddle.

Feeling sure of the unfailing hospitality ofthe rangeland, be the tent-dweller whom

he might, Happy Jack walked boldlythrough the soft, spring twilight that lastslong in Montana, and up to the very doorof the tent. A figure—a female figure—slender and topped by thin face and eyessheltered behind glasses, rose up, gazedupon him in horror, shrieked till one couldhear her a mile, and fell backward into thetent. Another female figure appeared,looked, and shrieked also—and evenlouder than did the first. Happy Jack, witha squawk of dismay, turned and flewincontinently afar into the dusk. A man'svoice he heard, shouting inquiry; another,shouting what, from a distance, soundedlike threats. Happy Jack did not wait tomake sure; he ran blindly, until he broughtup in a patch of prickly-pear, at which heyelled, forgetting for the instant that he

was pursued. Somehow he floundered outand away from the torture of the stingingspines, and took to the hills. A moon, bigas the mouth of a barrel, climbed over aridge and betrayed him to the mensearching below, and they shouted andfired a gun. Happy Jack did not believethey could shoot very straight, but he wasin no mood to take chances; he soughtrefuge among a jumble of great, graybowlders; sat himself down in the shadowand caressed gingerly the places wherethe prickly-pear had punctured his skin,and gave himself riotously over toblasphemy.

The men below were prowling half-heartedly, it seemed to him—as if theywere afraid of running upon him too

suddenly. It came to him that they wereafraid of him—and he grinned feebly atthe joke. He had not before stopped toconsider his appearance, being concernedwith more important matters. Now,however, as he pulled the scant coveringof the pelt over his shoulders to keep offthe chill of the night, he could not wonderthat the woman at the tent had fainted.Happy Jack suspected shrewdly that hecould, in that rig, startle almost any one.

He watched the coulee wistfully. Theywere making fires, down there below him;great, revealing bonfires at intervals thatwould make it impossible to pass theirline unseen. He could not doubt that someone was cached in the shadows with agun. There were more than two men;

Happy Jack thought that there must be atleast four or five. He would have liked togo down, just out of gun range, and shoutexplanations and a request for someclothes—only for the women. Happy wasalways ill at ease in the presence ofstrange women, and he felt, just now, quiteunequal to the ordeal of facing those two.He sat huddled in the shadow of a rockand wished profanely that women wouldstay at home and not go camping out in theBadlands, where their presence wasdistinctly inappropriate and undesirable.If the men down there were alone, he feltsure that he could make them understand.Seeing they were not alone, however, hestayed where he was and watched thefires, while his teeth chattered with coldand his stomach ached with the hunger he

could not appease.

Till daylight he sat there unhappily andwatched the unwinking challenge of theflames below, and miserably wishedhimself elsewhere; even the jibes of theHappy Family would be endurable, solong as he had the comfort afforded by theFlying U camp. But that was miles away.And when daylight brought warmth andreturning courage, he went so far as towish the Flying U camp farther away thanit probably was. He wanted to getsomewhere, and ask help from strangersrather than those he knew best.

With that idea fixed in his mind, he gotstiffly to his bruised feet, readjusted thesheepskin and began wearily to climbhigher. When the sun tinged all the hilltops

golden yellow, he turned and shook hisfist impotently at the camp far beneathhim. Then he went on doggedly.

Standing at last on a high peak, he lookedaway toward the sunrise and made out awhite speck on a grassy side-hill; besideit, a gray square moved slowly over thegreen. Sheep, and a sheep camp—andHappy Jack, hater of sheep though he was,hailed the sight as a bit of rare good luck.His spirits rose immediately, and hestarted straight for the place.

Down in the next coulee—there werealways coulees to cross, no matter in whatdirection one would travel—he came nearrunning plump into three riders, who wereIrish Mallory, and Weary, and Pink. Theywere riding down from the direction of the

camp where were the women, and theycaught sight of him immediately and gavechase. Happy Jack had no mind to berounded up by that trio; he dodged into thebushes, and though they dug long,unmerciful scratches in his person, clungto the shelter they gave and made off at topspeed. He could hear the others shoutingat one another as they galloped here andthere trying to locate him, and he skulkedwhere the bushes were deepest, like acriminal in fear of lynching.

Luck, for once, was with him, and he gotout into another brush-fringed couleewithout being seen, and felt himself, forthe present, safe from that portion of theHappy Family. Thereafter he avoidedreligiously the higher ridges, and kept the

direction more by instinct than by actualknowledge. The sun grew hot again and hehurried on, shifting the sheepskin as theneed impressed.

When at last he sighted again the sheep,they were very close. Happy Jack grewcautious; he crept down upon theunsuspecting herder as stealthily as ananimal hunting its breakfast. Herderssometimes carry guns—and the experienceof last night burned hot in his memory.

Slipping warily from rock to rock, he waswithin a dozen feet, when a dog barkedand betrayed his presence. The herder didnot have a gun. He gave a yell of pureterror and started for camp after hisweapon. Happy Jack, yelling also, withlong leaps followed after. Twice the

herder looked over his shoulder at theweird figure in gray hat and flappingsheepskin, and immediately after eachglance his pace increased perceptibly.Still Happy Jack, desperate beyondmeasure, doggedly pursued, and his longlegs lessened at each jump the distancebetween. From a spectacular viewpoint, itmust have been a pretty race.

The herder, with a gasp, dove into the tent;into the tent Happy Jack dove after him—and none too soon. The hand of the herderhad almost clasped his rifle when theweight of Happy bore him shrieking to theearthen floor.

"Aw, yuh locoed old fool, shut up, can'tyuh, a minute?" Happy Jack, with hisfingers pressed against the windpipe of

the other, had the satisfaction of seeing hisrequest granted at once. The shrieks diedto mere gurgling. "What I want uh you,"Happy went on crossly, "ain't yourlifeblood, yuh dam' Swede idiot. I wantsome clothes, and some grub; and I wantto borry that pinto I seen picketed out inthe hollow, down there. Now, will yuh letup that yelling and act white, or must Ipound some p'liteness into yuh? Say!"

"By damn, Ay tank yo' vas got soomcrazy," apologized the herder humbly,sanity growing in his pale blue eyes. "Aytank—"

"Oh, I don't give a cuss what you tank,"Happy Jack cut in. "I ain't had anything toeat sence yesterday forenoon, and I ain'thad any clothes on sence yesterday, either.

Send them darn dogs back to watch yoursheep, and get busy with breakfast! I'vegot a lot to do, t'-day. I've got to round upmy horse and get my clothes that's tied tothe saddle, and get t' where I'm going. Getup, darn yuh! I ain't going t' eat yuh—notunless you're too slow with that grub."

The herder was submissive and placating,and permitted Happy Jack to appropriatethe conventional garb of a male human, thewhile coffee and bacon were maddeninghis hunger with their tantalizing odor. Heseemed much more at ease, once he sawthat Happy Jack, properly clothed, wasnot particularly fearsome to look upon,and talked volubly while he got out breadand stewed prunes and boiled beans forthe thrice-unexpected guest.

Happy Jack, clothed and fed, becamehimself again and prophesied gloomily:"The chances is, that horse uh mine'll beforty miles away and still going, by thistime; but soon as I can round him up, I'llbring your pinto back. Yuh needn't t'worry none; I guess I got all the sense I'veever had."

Once more astride a horse—albeit thepinto pony of a sheepherder—Happy Jackfelt abundantly able to cope with thesituation. He made a detour that put himfar from where the three he most dreadedto meet were apt to be, and struck out atthe pinto's best pace for the river at thepoint where he had crossed sodisastrously the day before.

Having a good memory for directions and

localities, he easily found the place ofunhappy memory; and taking up Stranger'strail through the sand from there, he got thegeneral direction of his flight andfollowed vengefully after; rode for anhour up a long, grassy coulee, and camesuddenly upon the fugitive feeding quietlybeside a spring. The bundle of clothingwas still tied firmly to the saddle, and atsight of it the face of Happy Jack relaxedsomewhat from its gloom.

When Happy rode up and cast a loop overhis head Stranger nickered a bit, as if hedid not much enjoy freedom while he yetbore the trappings of servitude. And hissubmission was so instant and voluntarythat Happy Jack had not the heart to do ashe had threatened many times in the last

few hours—"to beat the hide off him."Instead, he got hastily into his clothes—quite as if he feared they might again bewhisked away from him—and then rubbedforgivingly the nose of Stranger, andsolicitously pulled a few strands of hisforelock from under the brow-band. In theheart of Happy Jack was a great peace,marred only by the physical discomfortsof much sun-blister and many deepscratches. After that he got thankfully intohis own saddle and rode gladly away,leading the pinto pony behind him. He hadgot out of the scrape, and the HappyFamily would never find it out; it was notlikely that they would chance upon theSwede herder, or if they did, that theywould exchange with him many words.The Happy Family held itself physically,

mentally, morally and socially far abovesheepherders—and in that lay the safety ofHappy Jack.

It was nearly noon when he reached againthe sheep camp, and the Swede hospitablyurged him to stay and eat with him; butHappy Jack would not tarry, for he wasanxious to reach the camp of the Flying U.A mile from the herder's camp he sawagain on a distant hilltop three familiarfigures. This time he did not dodge intoshelter, but urged Stranger to a gallop androde boldly toward them. They greetedhim joyfully and at the top of their voiceswhen he came within shouting distance.

"How comes it you're riding the pinnaclesover here?" Weary wanted to know, assoon as he rode alongside.

"Aw, I just came over after more orders;hope they send somebody else over there,if they want any more repping done,"Happy Jack said, in his customary tone ofdiscontent with circumstances.

"Say! Yuh didn't see anything of a wildman, down next the river, did yuh?" put inPink.

"Aw, gwan! what wild man?" Happy Jackeyed them suspiciously.

"Honest, there's a wild man rangingaround here in these hills," Pink declared."We've been mooching around allforenoon, hunting him. Got sight of him,early this morning, but he got away in thebrush."

Happy Jack looked guilty, and even moresuspicious. Was it possible that they hadrecognized him?

"The way we come to hear about him,"Weary explained, "we happened acrosssome campers, over in a little coulee tothe west uh here. They was all worked upover him. Seems he went into camp lastnight, and like to scared the ladies intofits. He ain't got enough clothes on to flagan antelope, according to them, and he'sabout seven feet high, and looks more likea missing link than a plain, ordinary man.The one that didn't faint away got the bestlook at him, and she's ready to take oath heain't more'n half human. They kept firesburning all night to scare him out uh thecoulee, and they're going to break camp

to-day and hike for home. They say hegive a screech that'd put a crimp in thedevil himself, and went galloping off,jumping about twenty feet at a lick. And—"

"Aw, gwan!" protested Happy Jack,feebly.

"So help me Josephine, it's the truth,"abetted Pink, round-eyed andunmistakably in earnest. "We wouldn't uhtaken much stock in it, either, only we sawhim ourselves, not more than two hundredyards off. He was just over the hill fromthe coulee where they were camped, soit's bound to be the same animal. It's afact, he didn't have much covering—justsomething hung over his shoulders. And hewas sure wild, for soon as he seen us he

humped himself and got into the brush. Wecould hear him go crashing away like awhole bunch of elephants. It's a damn'shame he got away on us," Pink sighedregretfully. "We was going to rope himand put him in a cage; we could sure uhmade money on him, at two bits a look."

Happy Jack continued to eye the threedistrustfully. Too often had he been thevictim of their humor for him now tobelieve implicitly in their ignorance. Itwas too good to be real, it seemed to him.Still, if by any good luck it were real, hehated to think what would happen if theyever found out the truth. He eased theclothing cautiously away from hissmarting back, and stared hard into acoulee.

"It was likely some sheepherder goneclean nutty," mused Irish.

"Well, the most uh them wouldn't have farto go," ventured Happy Jack, thinking ofthe Swede.

"What we ought to do," said Pink, keen forthe chase, "is for the whole bunch of us tocome down here and round him up.Wonder if we couldn't talk Chip intolaying off for a day or so; there's no herdto hold. I sure would like to get a goodlook at him."

"Somebody ought to take him in,"observed Irish longingly. "He ain't safe,running around loose like that. There's notelling what he might do. The way themcampers read his brand, he's plumb

dangerous to meet up with alone. It's luckyyou didn't run onto him, Happy."

"Well, I didn't," growled Happy Jack."And what's more, I betche there ain't anysuch person."

"Don't call us liars to our faces, Happy,"Weary reproved. "We told yuh, a dozentimes, that we saw him ourselves. Yuhmight be polite enough to take our wordfor it."

"Aw, gwan!" Happy Jack grunted, still notquite sure of how much—or how little—they knew. While they discussed furtherthe wild man, he watched furtively for thesurreptitious lowering of lids that wouldbetray their insincerity. When theyappealed to him for an opinion of some

phase of the subject, he answered withcaution. He tried to turn the talk to hisexperiences on the Shonkin range, andfound the wild man cropping up withdisheartening persistency. He shifted oftenin the saddle, because of the deepsunburns which smarted continually andmaddeningly. He wondered if the boyshad used all of that big box of carbolicsalve which used to be kept in a corner ofthe mess-box; and was carbolic salvegood for sun-blisters? He told himselfgloomily that if there was any of it left,and if it were good for his ailment, therewouldn't be half enough of it, anyway. Heestimated unhappily that he would needabout two quarts.

When they reached camp, the welcome of

Happy Jack was overshadowed and madeinsignificant by the strange story of thewild man. Happy Jack, mentally andphysically miserable, was forced to hearit all told over again, and to listen to theexcited comments of the others. He wassick of the subject. He had heard enoughabout the wild man, and he wishedfervently that they would shut up about it.He couldn't see that it was anything tomake such a fuss about, anyway. And hewished he could get his hands on thatcarbolic salve, without having the wholebunch rubbering around and askingquestions about something that was noneof their business. He even wished, in thatfirst bitter hour after he had eaten andwhile they were lying idly in the shadyspots, that he was back on the Shonkin

range with an alien crew.

It was perhaps an hour later that Pink,always of an investigative turn of mind,came slipping quietly up through the rosebushes from the creek. The Happy Family,lying luxuriously upon the grass, were stilldiscussing the latest excitement. Pinkwatched his chance and when none butWeary observed him jerked his headmysteriously toward the creek.

Weary got up, yawned ostentatiously, andsauntered away in the wake of Pink."What's the matter, Cadwolloper?" heasked, when he was close enough. "Seen agarter snake?" Pink was notoriously afraidof snakes.

"You come with me, and I'll show yuh the

wild man," he grinned.

"Mama!" ejaculated Weary, and followedstealthily where Pink led.

Some distance up the creek Pink signalledcaution, and they crept like Indians onhands and knees through the grass. On theedge of the high bank they stopped, andPink motioned. Weary looked over andcame near whooping at the sight below.He gazed a minute, drew back and put hisface close to the face of Pink.

"Cadwolloper, go get the bunch!" hecommanded in a whisper, and Pink, againsignalling needlessly for silence, slippedhastily away from the spot.

Happy Jack, secure in the seclusion

offered by the high bank of the creek, ranhis finger regretfully around the inside ofthe carbolic salve box, eyed the resultdissatisfiedly, and applied the fingercarefully to a deep cut on his knee. He hadgot that cut while going up the bluff, justafter leaving the tent where had been theshrieking females. He wished there wasmore salve, and he picked up the cover ofthe box and painstakingly wiped out theinside; the result was disheartening.

He examined his knee dolefully. It wasbeginning to look inflamed, and it wasgoing to make him limp. He wondered ifthe boys would notice anything queerabout his walk. If they did, there was theconventional excuse that his horse hadfallen down with him—Happy Jack hoped

that it would be convincing. He took upthe box again and looked at the shiningemptiness of it. It had been half full—notenough, by a long way—and maybe someone would wonder what had become of it.Darn a bunch that always had to knoweverything, anyway!

Happy Jack, warned at last by thatunnamed instinct which tells of a presenceunseen, turned around and looked upapprehensively. The Happy Family, sittingin a row upon their heels on the bank,looked down at him gravely andappreciatively.

"There's a can uh wagon dope, up atcamp," Cal Emmett informed himsympathetically.

"Aw—" Happy Jack began, and chokedupon his humiliation.

"I used to know a piece uh poetry about afellow like Happy," Weary remarkedsweetly. "It said

'He raised his veil, the maidturned slowly roundLooked at him, shrieked, and fellupon the ground.'

Only, in this case," Weary smiled blandlydown upon him, "Happy didn't have noveil."

"Aw, gwan!" adjured Happy Jackhelplessly, and reached for his clothes,while the Happy Family chorused ademand for explanations.

A TAMER OF WILDONES.

When the days grow crisp at each end andlanguorous in the middle; when a hazeripples the skyline like a waving ribbon offaded blue; when the winds and thegrasses stop and listen for the first on-rushof winter, then it is that the rangelandtakes on a certain intoxicating unreality,and range-wild blood leaps with desire todo something—anything, so it is differentand irresponsible and not measured byprecedent or prudence.

In days like that one grows venturesome

and ignores difficulties and limitationswith a fine disregard for probableconsequences, a mental snapping offingers. On a day like that, the HappyFamily, riding together out of Dry Lakewith the latest news in mind and speech,urged Andy Green, tamer of wild ones, toenter the rough-riding contest exploited asone of the features of the NorthernMontana Fair, to be held at Great Falls intwo weeks. Pink could not enter, becausea horse had fallen with him and hurt hisleg, so that he was picking the gentlest inhis string for daily riding. Weary wouldnot, because he had promised his LittleSchoolma'am to take care of himself andnot take any useless risks; even thetemptation of a two-hundred-dollar pursecould not persuade him that a rough-riding

contest is perfectly safe and without theban. But Andy, impelled by the leapingblood of him and urged by the loyalFamily, consented and said he'd try it awhirl, anyway.

They had only ridden four or five mileswhen the decision was reached, and theystraightway turned back and raced intoDry Lake again, so that Andy might writethe letter that clinched matters. Then,whooping with the sheer exhilaration ofliving, and the exultation of being able toride and whoop unhindered, they gallopedback to camp and let the news spread as itwould. In a week all Chouteau Countyknew that Andy Green would ride for thepurse, and nearly all Chouteau Countybacked him with all the money it could

command; certainly, all of it that knewAndy Green and had seen him ride, madehaste to find someone who did not knowhim and whose faith in another contestantwas strong, and to bet all the money itcould lay hands upon.

For Andy was one of those mild-manneredmen whose genius runs to riding horseswhich object violently to being ridden;one of those lucky fellows who neverseems to get his neck broken, howevermuch he may jeopardize it; and, moreover,he was that rare genius, who can make a"pretty" ride where other broncho-fightersresemble nothing so much as a scarecrowin a cyclone. Andy not only could ride—he could ride gracefully. And the reasonfor that, not many knew: Andy, in the years

before he wandered to the range, haddanced, in spangled tights, upon the broadrump of a big gray horse which gallopedaround a saw-dust ring with the regularityof movement that suggested a machine,while a sober-clothed man in the centercracked a whip and yelped commands.Andy had jumped through blazing hoopsand over sagging bunting while he rode—and he was just a trifle ashamed of thefact. Also—though it does not particularlymatter—he had, later in the performance,gone hurtling around the big tent dressedin the garb of an ancient Roman anddriving four deep-chested bays abreast.As has been explained, he never boastedof his circus experience; though his daysin spangled tights probably had much todo with the inimitable grace of him in the

saddle. The Happy Family felt to a manthat Andy would win the purse and addhonor to the Flying U in the winning. Theywere enthusiastic over the prospect andwilling to bet all they had on the outcome.

The Happy Family, together with thealiens who swelled the crew to round-upsize, was foregathered at the largestFlying U corral, watching a bunch ofnewly bought horses circle, with muchsnorting and kicking up of dust, inside thefence. It was the interval between beef-and calf-roundups, and the witchery ofIndian Summer held the range-land inthrall.

Andy, sizing up the bunch and the brands,

lighted upon a rangy blue roan that heknew—or thought he knew, and the eyesof him brightened with desire. If he couldget that roan in his string, he told himself,he could go to sleep in the saddle onnight-guard; for an easier horse to ride henever had straddled. It was like sitting ingrandma's pet rocking chair when thatroan loosened his muscles for a long,tireless gallop over the prairie sod, and asa stayer Andy had never seen his equal. Itwas not his turn to choose, however, andhe held his breath lest the rope of anothershould settle over the slatey-black earsahead of him.

Cal Emmett roped a plump little black andled him out, grinning satisfaction; from thewhite saddle-marks back of the withers he

knew him for a "broke" horse, and hecertainly was pretty to look at. Andy gavehim but a fleeting glance.

Happy Jack spread his loop and climbeddown from the fence, almost at Andy'selbow. It was his turn to choose. "I betchethat there blue roan over there is a goodone," he remarked. "I'm going to tacklehim."

Andy took his cigarette from between hislips. "Yuh better hobble your stirrups,then," he discouraged artfully. "I know thatroan a heap better than you do."

"Aw, gwan!" Happy, nevertheless,hesitated. "He's got a kind eye in his head;yuh can always go by a horse's eye."

"Can yuh?" Andy smiled indifferently."Go after him, then. And say, Happy: ifyuh ride that blue roan for five successiveminutes, I'll give yuh fifty dollars. I knewthat hoss down on the Musselshell; he'sgot a record that'd reach from here to DryLake and back." It was a bluff, pure andsimple, born of his covetousness, but ithad the desired effect—or nearly so.

Happy fumbled his rope and eyed theroan. "Aw, I betche you're just lying," hehazarded; but, like many another, when hedid strike the truth he failed to recognizeit. "I betche—"

"All right, rope him out and climb on, ifyuh don't believe me." The tone of Andywas tinged with injury. "There's fiftydollars—yes, by gracious, I'll give yuh a

hundred dollars if yuh ride him for fiveminutes straight."

A conversation of that character, carriedon near the top of two full-lunged voices,never fails in the range land to bring anaudience of every male human withinhearing. All other conversations andinterests were immediately suspended,and a dozen men trotted up to see what itwas all about. Andy remained roostingupon the top rail, his rope coiled looselyand dangling from one arm while hesmoked imperturbably.

"Oh, Happy was going to rope out a sure-enough bad one for his night hoss, and outuh the goodness uh my heart, I put himwise to what he was going up against," heexplained carelessly.

"He acts like he has some thoughts uhdoubting my word, so I just offered him ahundred dollars to ride him—that blueroan, over there next that crooked post.GET a reserved seat right in front of thegrand stand where all the big acts takePLACE;" he sung out suddenly, in theregulation circus tone. "GET-a-seat-right-in-front-where-Happy-Jack-the-WILD-Man-rides-the-BUCKING-BRONCHO—Go on, Happy. Don't keep the audiencewaiting. Aren't yuh going to earn thathundred dollars?"

Happy Jack turned half a shade redderthan was natural. "Aw, gwan. I never saidI was going to do no broncho-busting ack.But I betche yuh never seen that roanbefore he was unloaded in Dry Lake."

"What'll yuh bet I don't know that hossfrom a yearling colt?" Andy challenged,and Happy Jack walked away withoutreplying, and cast his loop sullenly overthe first horse he came to—which was notthe roan.

Chip, coming up to hear the last of it,turned and looked long at the horse inquestion; a mild-mannered horse, standingby a crooked corral post and flicking hisears at the flies. "Do you know thatroan?"he asked Andy, in the tone whichbrings truthful answer. Andy had one goodpoint: he never lied except in anirresponsible mood of pure deviltry. Forinstance, he never had lied seriously, to anemployer.

"Sure, I know that hoss," he answered

truthfully.

"Did you ever ride him?"

"No," Andy admitted, still truthfully. "Inever rode him but once myself, but Iworked right with a Lazy 6 rep that hadhim in his string, down at the U up-and-down, two years ago. I know the hoss, allright; but I did lie when I told Happy Iknowed him from a colt. I spread it on alittle bit thick, there." He smiledengagingly down at Chip.

"And he's a bad one, is he?" Chip queriedOver his shoulder, just as he was about towalk away.

"Well," Andy prevaricated—still clingingto the letter, if not to the spirit of truth.

"He ain't a hoss I'd like to see Happy Jackgo up against. I ain't saying, though, that hecan't be rode. I don't say that about anyhoss."

"Is he any worse than Glory, when Gloryis feeling peevish?" Weary asked, whenChip was gone and while the men stilllingered. Andy, glancing to make sure thatChip was out of hearing, threw away hiscigarette and yielded to temptation."Glory?" he snorted with a fine contempt."Why, Glory's—a—lamb beside that blueroan! Why, that hoss throwed BuckskinJimmy clean out of a corral—Did yuhever see Buckskin Jimmy ride? Well, say,yuh missed a pretty sight, then; Jimmy's asure-enough rider. About the only animalhe ever failed to connect with for keeps, is

that same cow-backed hoss yuh see overthere. Happy says he's got a kind eye inhis head—" Andy stopped and laughed tillthey all laughed with him. "By gracious,Happy ought to step up on him, once, andsee how kind he is!" He laughed againuntil Happy, across the corral saddling thehorse he had chosen, muttered profanely atthe derision he knew was pointed athimself.

"Why, I've seen that hoss—" Andy Green,once fairly started in the fascinating pathof romance, invented details for the purejoy of creation. If he had written some ofthe tales he told, and had sold the writingfor many dollars, he would have beenfamous. Since he did not write them forprofit, but told them for fun, instead, he

earned merely the reputation of being agreat liar. A significant mark of his geniuslay in the fact that his inventions neverfailed to convince; not till afterward didhis audience doubt.

That is why the blue roan was not chosenin any of the strings, but was left alwayscircling in the corral after a loop hadsettled. That is why the Flying U boyslooked at him askance as they passed himby. That is why, when a certain Mr.Coleman, sent by the board of directors torake northern Montana for bad horses,looked with favor upon the blue roanwhen he came to the Flying U ranch andheard the tale of his exploits as interpreted—I should say created—by Andy Green.

"We've got to have him," he declared

enthusiastically. "If he's as bad as all that,he'll be the star performer at the contest,and make that two-hundred-dollar plum ahard one to pick. Some of these gay boyshave entered with the erroneous idea thatthat same plum is hanging loose, and allthey've got to do is lean up against the treeand it'll drop in their mouths. We've got tohave that roan. I'll pay you a good pricefor him, Whitmore, if you won't let him goany other way. We've got a reporter upthere that can do him up brown in aspecial article, and people will come inbunches to see a horse with that kind of apedigree. Is it Green, here, that knows thehorse and what he'll do? You're sure ofhim, are you, Green?"

Andy took time to roll a cigarette. He had

not expected any such development asthis, and he needed to think of the bestway out. All he had wanted or intendedwas to discourage the others fromclaiming the blue roan; he wanted him inhis own string. Afterwards, when they hadpestered him about the roan's record, headmitted to himself that he had, maybe,overshot the mark and told it a bit tooscarey, and too convincingly. Under thespell of fancy he had done more than makethe roan unpopular as a roundup horse; hehad made him a celebrity in the way ofoutlaw horses. And they wanted him in therough-riding contest! Andy, perhaps, hadnever before been placed in just such aposition.

"Are you sure of what the horse will do?"

Mr. Coleman repeated, seeing that Andywas taking a long time to reply.

Andy licked his cigarette, twisted an endand leaned backward while he felt in hispocket for a match. From the look of hisface you never could have told how veryuncomfortable he felt "Naw," he drawled."I ain't never sure of what any hoss willdo. I've had too much dealings with 'emfor any uh that brand uh foolishness." Helighted the cigarette as if that were theonly matter in which he took any realinterest, though he was thinking fast.

Mr. Coleman looked nonplussed. "But Ithought—you said—"

"What I said," Andy retorted evenly, "hitthe blue roan two years ago; maybe he's

reformed since then; I dunno. Nobody'srode him, here." He could not resist asidelong glance at Happy Jack. "Therewas some talk of it, but it never come to ahead."

"Yuh offered me a hundred dollars—"Happy Jack began accusingly.

"And yuh never made no move to earn it,that I know of. By gracious, yuh all seemto think I ought to mind-read that hoss! Iain't seen him for two years. Maybe so,he's a real wolf yet; maybe so, he's asheep." He threw out both his hands topoint the end of the argument—so far as hewas concerned—stuck them deep into histrousers' pockets and walked away beforehe could be betrayed into deeper deceit. Itdid seem to him rather hard that, merely

because he had wanted the roan badlyenough to—er—exercise a littlediplomacy in order to get him, they shouldkeep harping on the subject like that. Andto have Coleman making medicine to getthe roan into that contest was, to say theleast, sickening. Andy's private belief wasthat a twelve-year-old girl could go roundup the milk-cows on that horse. He hadnever known him to make a crookedmove, and he had ridden beside him allone summer and had seen him in all placesand under all possible conditions. He wasa dandy cow-horse, and dead gentle; allthis talk made him tired. Andy hadforgotten that he himself had started thetalk.

Coleman went often to the corral when the

horses were in, and looked at the blueroan. Later he rode on to other rancheswhere he had heard were bad horses, andleft the roan for further consideration.When he was gone, Andy breathed freerand put his mind to the coming contest andthe things he meant to do with the purseand with the other contestants.

"That Diamond G twister is going t' ride,"Happy Jack announced, one day when hecame from town. "Some uh the boys wasin town and they said so. He can ride, too.I betche Andy don't have no picnic gittingthe purse away from that feller. AndColeman's got that sorrel outlaw uh theHS. I betche Andy'll have to pull leatheron that one." This was, of course, treasonpure and simple; but Happy Jack's

prophecies were never taken seriously.

Andy simply grinned at him. "Put yourmoney on the Diamond G twister," headvised calmly. "I know him—he's a goodrider, too. His name's Billy Roberts. Uhcourse, I aim to beat him to it, but Happynever does like to have a sure-thing. Hewants something to hang his jaw downover. Put your money on Billy and watchit fade away, Happy."

"Aw, gwan. I betche that there sorrel—"

"I rode that there sorrel once, and combedhis forelock with both spurs alternate,"Andy lied boldly. "He's pickings. Takehim back and bring me a real hoss."

Happy Jack wavered. "Well, I betche yuh

don't pull down that money," he predictedvaguely. "I betche yuh git throwed, orsomething. It don't do to be too blame sureuh nothing."

Whereat Andy laughed derisively andwent away whistling. "I wish I was assure uh living till I was a thousand yearsold, and able to ride nine months out ofevery year of 'em," he called back toHappy. Then he took up the tune where hehad left off.

For the days were still crisp at both endsand languorous in the middle, and windand grasses hushed and listened for thecoming of winter. And because of thesethings, and his youth and his health, theheart of Andy Green was light in his chestand trouble stood afar off with its face

turned from him.

It was but three days to the opening of thefair when Coleman, returning that wayfrom his search for bad horses, clattered,with his gleanings and three or four men tohelp drive them, down the grade to theFlying U. And in the Flying U coulee, justacross the creek from the corrals, stillrested the roundup tents for a space. Forthe shipping was over early and work wasnot urgent, and Chip and the Old Man, intheir enthusiasm for the rough-ridingcontest and the entry of their own man, haddecided to take the wagons and crewentire to Great Falls and camp throughoutthe four days of the fair. The boys allwanted to go, anyway, as did everybodyelse, so that nothing could be done till it

was over. It was a novel idea, and ittickled the humor of the Happy Family.

The "rough string," as the bad horses werecalled, was corralled, and the men mademerry with the roundup crew. Diamond Gmen they were, loudly proclaiming theirfaith in Billy Roberts, and offering betsalready against Andy, who listenedundisturbed and had very little to say. TheHappy Family had faith in him, and thatwas enough. If everybody, he told them,believed that he would win, where wouldbe the fun of riding and showing them?

It was after their early supper thatColeman came down to camp at the heelsof Chip and the Old Man. Straightway hesought out Andy like a man who hassomething on his mind; though Andy did

not in the least know what it was, herecognized the indefinable symptoms andbraced himself mentally, half suspectingthat it was something about that blue roanagain. He was getting a little bit tired ofthe blue roan—enough so that, though hehad chosen him for his string, he had notyet put saddle to his back, but waited untilthe roundup started out once more, whenhe would ride him in his turn.

It was the blue roan, without doubt.Coleman came to a stop directly in frontof Andy, and as directly came to the point.

"Look here, Green," he began. "I'm shy onhorses for that contest, and Whitmore andBennett say I can have that roan you've gotin your string. If he's as bad as you claim,I certainly must have him. But you seem to

have some doubts of what he'll do, and I'dlike to see him ridden once. Your shingleis out as a broncho-peeler. Will you ridehim this evening, so I can size him up forthat contest?"

Andy glanced up under his eyebrows, andthen sidelong at the crowd. Every manwithin hearing was paying strict attention,and was eyeing him expectantly; forbroncho-fighting is a spectacle that neverpalls.

"Well, I can ride him, if yuh say so," Andymade cautious answer, "but I won'tgamble he's a bad hoss now—that is, badenough to take to the Falls. Yuh don't wantto expect—"

"Oh, I don't expect anything—only I want

to see him ridden once. Come on, no timelike the present. If he's bad, you'll have toride him at the fair, anyhow, and a littlepractice won't hurt you; and if he isn't, Iwant to know it for sure."

"It's a go with me," Andy saidindifferently, though he secretly felt muchrelief. The roan would go off like a petdog, and he could pretend to be somewhatsurprised, and declare that he hadreformed. Bad horses do reform,sometimes, as Andy and every other manin the crowd knew. Then there would beno more foolish speculation about thecayuse, and Andy could keep him in peaceand have a mighty good cow-pony, as hehad schemed. He smoked a cigarette whileChip was having the horses corralled, and

then led the way willingly, with twenty-five men following expectantly at hisheels. Unlike Andy, they fully expected animpromptu exhibition of fancy riding. Notall of them had seen Andy atop a badhorse, and the Diamond G men, inparticular, were eager to witness a sampleof his skill.

The blue roan submitted to the rope, andthere was nothing spectacular in thesaddling. Andy kept his cigarette betweenhis lips and smiled to himself when hesaw the saddle bunch hazed out throughthe gate and the big corral left empty ofevery animal but the blue roan, as wascustomary when a man tackled a horsewith the record which he had given thepoor beast. Also, the sight of twenty-five

men roosting high, their boot-heels hookedunder a corral rail to steady them, theirfaces writ large with expectancy, amusedhim inwardly. He pictured theirdisappointment when the roan trottedaround the corral once or twice at hisbidding, and smiled again.

"If you can't top him, Green, we'll send forBilly Roberts. He'll take off the roughedge and gentle him down for yuh,"taunted a Diamond G man.

"Don't get excited till the show starts,"Andy advised, holding the cigarette in hisfingers while he emptied his lungs ofsmoke. Just to make a pretence of caution,he shook the saddle tentatively by thehorn, and wished the roan would make alittle show of resistance, instead of

standing there like an old cow, lackingonly the cud, as he complained to himself,to make the resemblance complete. Theroan, however, did lay back an ear whenAndy, the cigarette again in his lips, puthis toe in the stirrup.

"Go after it, you weatherbeaten old saw-buck," he yelled, just to make the playstrong, before he was fairly in the saddle.

Then it was that the Happy Family, heartand soul and pocket all for Andy Greenand his wonderful skill in the saddle; withmany dollars backing their belief in himand with voices ever ready to sing hispraises; with the golden light of earlysunset all about them and the tang ofcoming night-frost in the air, received ashock that made them turn white under

their tan.

"Mama!" breathed Weary, in a horrifiedhalf-whisper.

And Slim, goggle-eyed beside him,blurted, "Well, by golly!" in a voice thatcarried across the corral.

For Andy Green, tamer of wild ones(forsooth!) broncho-twister with a famethat not the boundary of Chouteau Countyheld, nor yet the counties beyond; AndyGreen, erstwhile "André de Gréno,champion bare-back rider of the WesternHemisphere," who had jumped throughblazing hoops and over sagging buntingwhile he rode, turned handsprings anddone other public-drawing feats, wasprosaically, unequivocally "piled" at the

fifth jump!

That he landed lightly on his feet, with thecigarette still between his lips, theroosting twenty-five quite overlooked.They saw only the first jump, where Andy,riding loose and unguardedly, went up onthe blue withers. The second, third andfourth jumps were not far enough apart tobe seen and judged separately; as wellmay one hope to decide whether awhirling wheel had straight or crookedspokes. The fifth jump, however, was amasterpiece of rapid-fire contortion, andit was important because it left Andy onthe ground, gazing, with an extremelygrieved expression, at the uninterruptedconvolutions of the "dandy little cow-hoss."

The blue roan never stopped so much as tolook back. He was busy—exceedinglybusy. He was one of those pervertedbrutes which buck and bawl and so keepthemselves wrought up to a high pitch—literally and figuratively. He set himselfseriously to throw Andy's saddle over hishead, and he was not a horse which easilyaccepts defeat. Andy walked around in themiddle of the corral, quite aimlessly, andwatched the roan contort. He could notunderstand in the least, and his amazementovershadowed, for the moment, the factthat he had been thrown and that in publicand before men of the Diamond G.

Then it was that the men of the Diamond Gyelled shrill words of ironical sympathy.Then it was that the Happy Family looked

at one another in shamed silence, and tothe taunts of the Diamond Gs made noreply. It had never occurred to them thatsuch a thing could happen. Had they notseen Andy ride, easily and often? Hadthey not heard from Pink how Andy hadperformed that difficult feat at the RockingR—the feat of throwing his horse flat inthe middle of a jump? They waited untilthe roan, leaving the big corral looking, inthe fast deepening twilight, like a fresh-ploughed field, stopped dejectedly andstood with his nose against the closedgate, and then climbed slowly down fromthe top rail of the corral, still silent withthe silence more eloquent than speech inany known language.

Over by the gate, Andy was yanking

savagely at the latigo; and he, also, hadnever a word to say. He was stillwondering how it had happened. Helooked the roan over critically and shookhis head against the riddle; for he hadknown him to be a quiet, dependable, all-round good horse, with no bad traits andan easy-going disposition that fretted atnothing. A high-strung, nervous beastmight, from rough usage and abuse, go"bad"; but the blue roan—they had calledhim Pardner—had never showed theslightest symptom of nerves. Andy knewhorses as he knew himself. That a horselike Pardner should, in two years, becomean evil-tempered past-master in suchdevilish pitching as that, was past belief.

"I guess he'll do, all right," spoke

Coleman at his elbow. "I've seen horsespitch, and I will say that he's got somespecialties that are worth exhibiting."Then, as a polite way of letting Andydown easy, he added, "I don't wonder youcouldn't connect."

"Connect—hell!" It was Andy's firstrealization of what his failure meant to theothers. He left off wondering about theroan, and faced the fact that he had beenthrown, fair and square, and that before anaudience of twenty-five pairs of eyeswhich had seen rough riding before, andwhich had expected of him somethingbetter than they were accustomed toseeing.

"I reckon Billy Roberts will have to workon that cayuse a while," fleered a

Diamond G man, coming over to them."He'll gentle him down so that anybody—even Green, can ride him!"

Andy faced him hotly, opened his mouthfor sharp reply, and closed it. He had been"piled." Nothing that he could say mightalter that fact, nor explanations lighten thedisgrace. He turned and went out the gate,carrying his saddle and bridle with him.

"Aw—and you was goin' t' ride in thatcontest!" wailed Happy Jackrecriminatingly. "And I've got fortydollars up on yuh!"

"Shut up!" snapped Pink in his ear, heart-broken but loyal to the last. "Yuh going toblat around and let them Diamond Gs giveyuh the laugh? Hunt up something you can

use for a backbone till they get out uhcamp, for Heaven's sake! Andy's our man.So help me, Josephine, if anybody goesrubbing it in where I can hear, he'll get hisface punched!"

"Say, I guess we ain't let down on ourfaces, or anything!" sighed Cal Emmett,coming up to them. "I thought Andy couldride! Gee whiz, but it was fierce! Why,Happy could make a better ride than that!"

"By golly, I want t' have a talk with thatthere broncho-tamer," Slim growledbehind them. "I got money on him. Is hegoin t' ride for that purse? 'Cause if he is, Iain't going a foot."

These and other remarks of a like naturemade up the clamor that surged in the ears

of Andy as he went, disgraced and alone,up to the deserted bunk-house where heneed not hear what they were saying. Heknew, deep in his heart, that he could ridethat horse. He had been thrown because ofhis own unpardonable carelessness—acarelessness which he could not wellexplain to the others. He himself had giventhe roan an evil reputation; a reputationthat, so far as he knew, was libel pure andsimple. To explain now that he wasthrown simply because he never dreamedthe horse would pitch, and so was takenunaware, would simply be to insult theirintelligence. He was not supposed, aftermounting a horse like that, to be takenunaware. He might, of course, say that hehad lied all along—but he had no intentionof making any confession like that. Even if

he did, they would not believe him.Altogether, it was a very unhappy youngman who slammed his spurs into a farcorner and kicked viciously a box he hadstumbled over in the dusk.

"Trying to bust the furniture?" it was thevoice of the Old Man at the door.

"By gracious, it seems I can't bust bronksno more," Andy made rueful reply. "Ireckon I'll just about have to bust thefurniture or nothing."

The Old Man chuckled and came inside,sought the box Andy had kicked, and satdown upon it. Through the open doorcame the jumble of many voices upraisedin fruitless argument, and with it the chillof frost. The Old Man fumbled for his

pipe, filled it and scratched a matchsharply on the box. In the flare of it Andywatched his kind old face with its fringeof grayish hair and its deep-graven linesof whimsical humor.

"Doggone them boys, they ain't got thestayin' qualities I give 'em credit forhaving," he remarked, holding up thematch and looking across at Andy, humpeddisconsolately in the shadows. "ThemDiamond G men has just about got 'em onthe run, right now. Yuh couldn't get ahundred-t'-one bet, down there."

Andy merely grunted.

"Say," asked the Old Man suddenly."Didn't yuh kinda mistake that blue roanfor his twin brother, Pardner? This here

cayuse is called Weaver. I tried t' get holdof t'other one, but doggone 'em, theywouldn't loosen up. Pardner wasn't forsale at no price, but they talked me intobuying the Weaver; they claimed he's justabout as good a horse, once he's tameddown some—and I thought, seein' I've gotsome real tamers on my pay-roll, I'd takea chance on him. I thought yuh knew thehorse—the way yuh read up his pedigree—till I seen yuh mount him. Why, doggoneit, yuh straddled him like yuh was justclimbing a fence! Maybe yuh know yourown business best—but didn't yuh kindamistake him for Pardner? They're as nearalike as two bullets run in the same mold—as far as looks go."

Andy got up and went to the door, and

stood looking down the dusk-muffled hillto the white blotch which was the camp;listened to the jumble of voices stillupraised in fruitless argument, and turnedto the Old Man.

"By gracious, that accounts for a wholelot," he said ambiguously.

II

"I don't see," said Cal Emmett crossly,"what's the use uh this whole outfit trailingup to that contest. If I was Chip, I'd callthe deal off and start gathering calves. Itain't as if we had a man to ride for thatbelt and purse. Ain't your leg well enoughto tackle it, Pink?"

"No," Pink answered shortly, "it ain't."

"Riding the rough bunch they've roundedup for that contest ain't going to be anypicnic," Weary defended his chum."Cadwolloper would need two good legsto go up against that deal."

"I wish Irish was here," Pink gloomed."I'd be willing to back him; all right. Butit's too late now; he couldn't enter if hewas here."

A voice behind them spoke challengingly."I don't believe it would be etiquette forone outfit to enter two peelers. One'senough, ain't it?"

The Happy Family turned coldly upon thespeaker. It was Slim who answered for

them all. "I dunno as this outfit has got anypeeler in that contest. By golly, it don'tlook like it since las' night!"

Weary was gentle, as always, but he wasfirm. "We kinda thought you'd want towithdraw," he added.

Andy Green, tamer of wild ones, turnedand eyed Weary curiously. One mightguess, from telltale eyes and mouth, thathis calmness did not go very deep. "I don'trecollect mentioning that I was busypenning any letter uh withdrawal," hesaid. "I got my sights raised to that purseand that belt. I don't recollect sayinganything about lowering 'em."

"Aw, gwan. I guess I'll try for that purse,too! I betche I got as good a show as—"

"Sure. Help yourself, it don't cost nothing.I don't doubt but what you'd make a realpretty ride, Happy." Andy's tone wasdeceitfully hearty. He did not sound in theleast as if he would like to choke HappyJack, though that was his secret longing.

"Aw, gwan. I betche I could make as purtya ride as we've saw—lately." Happy Jackdid not quite like to make the thing toopersonal, for fear of what might happenafter.

"Yuh mean last night, don't yuh?" purredAndy.

"Well, by golly, I wish you'd tell us whatyuh done it for!" Slim cut in disgustedly."It was nacherlay supposed you couldride; we got money up on yuh! And then,

by golly, to go and make a fluke like thatbefore them Diamond G men—to go andlet that blue roan pile yuh up b'fore he'dgot rightly started t' pitch—If yuh'd stayedwith him till he got t' swappin' ends there,it wouldn't uh looked quite so bad. But t'go and git throwed down right in the start—By golly!" Slim faced Andy accusingly."B'fore them Diamond G men—and I'vegot money up, by golly!"

"Yuh ain't lost any money yet, have yuh?"Andy inquired patiently. What Andy feltlike doing was to "wade into the bunch";reason, however, told him that he had itcoming from them, and to take hismedicine, since he could not well explainjust how it had happened. He could not inreason wonder that the faith of the Happy

Family was shattered and that theymourned as lost the money they hadalready rashly wagered on the outcome ofthe contest. The very completeness of theirfaith in him, their very loyalty, seemed tothem their undoing, for to them the casewas plain enough. If Andy could not ridethe blue roan in their own corral, how washe to ride that same blue roan in GreatFalls? Or, if he could ride him, how couldany sane man hope that he could win thepurse and the belt under the stringent rulesof the contest, where "riding on the spurs,""pulling leather" and a dozen other thingswere barred? So Andy, under the sting oftheir innuendoes and blunt reproaches,was so patient as to seem to them cowed.

"No, I ain't lost any yet, but by golly, I can

see it fixin' to fly," Slim retorted heavily.

Andy looked around at the others, andsmiled as sarcastically as was possibleconsidering the mood he was in. "It suredoes amuse me," he observed, "to seegrowed men cryin' before they're hurt! Bygracious, I expect t' make a stake out uhthat fall! I can get long odds from themDiamond Gs, and from anybody they get achance to talk to. I'm kinda planning," helied boldly, "to winter in an orange groveand listen at the birds singing, after I'mthrough with the deal."

"I reckon yuh can count on hearing thebirds sing, all right," Pink snapped back."It'll be tra-la-la for yours, if last night's afair sample uh what yuh expect to do withthe blue roan." Pink walked abruptly

away, looking very much like a sulkycherub.

"I s'pose yuh're aiming to give us theimpression that you're going to ride, justthe same," said Cal Emmett.

"I sure am," came brief reply. Andy wasbeginning to lose his temper. He hadexpected that the Happy Family would"throw it into him," to a certain extent, andhe had schooled himself to take theirdrubbing. What he had not expected wastheir unfriendly attitude, which wentbeyond mere disappointment and made hisoffence—if it could be called that—moreserious than the occasion would seem towarrant. Perhaps Jack Bates unwittinglymade plain the situation when heremarked:

"I hate to turn down one of our bunch;we've kinda got in the habit uh hangingtogether and backing each other's play,regardless. But darn it, we ain'tmillionaires, none of us—and gambling, itis a sin. I've got enough up already to keepme broke for six months if I lose, and therest are in about the same fix. I ain'traising no long howl, Andy, but you cansee yourself where we're kinda bashfulabout sinking any more on yuh than whatwe have. Maybe you can ride; I've heardyuh can, and I've seen yuh make some fairrides, myself. But yuh sure fell down hardlast night, and my faith in yuh got a joltthat fair broke its back. If yuh done itdeliberate, for reasons we don't know, forHeaven's sake say so, and we'll take yourword for it and forget your rep for lying.

On the dead, Andy, did yuh fall offdeliberate?"

Andy bit his lip. His conscience had atheory of its own about truth-telling, andpermitted him to make strange assertionsat times. Still, there were limitations. TheHappy Family was waiting for his answer,and he knew instinctively that they wouldbelieve him now. For a moment,temptation held him. Then he squared hisshoulders and spoke truly.

"On the dead, I hit the ground unexpectedand inadvertant. I—"

"If that's the case, then the farther yuh keepaway from that contest the better—if yuha s k me." Jack turned on his heel andfollowed Pink.

Andy stared after him moodily, thenglanced at the rest. With one accord theyavoided meeting his gaze. "Damn a bunchuh quitters!" he flared hotly, and left them,to hunt up the Old Man and Chip—one orboth, it did not matter to him.

Pink it was who observed the Old Manwriting a check for Andy. He took it thatAndy had called for his time, and whenAndy rolled his bed and stowed it away inthe bunk-house, saddled a horse and rodeup the grade toward town, the whole outfitknew for a certainty that Andy had quit.

Before many hours had passed they, too,saddled and rode away, with the wagonsand the cavvy following after—and theywere headed for Great Falls and the fairthere to be held; or, more particularly, the

rough-riding contest to which they hadlooked forward eagerly and with muchenthusiasm, and which they were nowapproaching gloomily and in deephumiliation. Truly, it would be hard tofind a situation more galling to the prideof the Happy Family.

But Andy Green had not called for histime, and he had no intention of quitting;for Andy was also suffering from thatuncomfortable malady which we call hurtpride, and for it he knew but one remedy—a remedy which he was impatient toapply. Because of the unfriendly attitudeof the Happy Family, Andy had refused totake them into his confidence, or to ridewith them to the fair. Instead, he haddrawn what money was still placed to his

credit on the pay-roll, had taken a horseand his riding outfit and gone away to DryLake, where he intended to take the trainfor Great Falls.

In Dry Lake, however, he found that thestory of his downfall had preceded him,thanks to the exultant men of the DiamondG, and that the tale had not shrunk in thetelling. Dry Lake jeered him as openly asit dared, and part of it—that part whichhad believed in him—was quite asunfriendly as was the Happy Family. To aman they took it for granted that he wouldwithdraw from the contest, and they werenot careful to conceal what they thought.Andy found himself rather left alone, andhe experienced more than once theunpleasant sensation of having

conversation suddenly lag when he camenear, and of seeing groups of men dissolveawkwardly at his approach. Andy, beforehe had been in town an hour, was in amood to do violence.

For that reason he kept his plans rigidly tohimself. When someone asked him if hehad quit the outfit, he had returned grufflythat the Flying U was not the only cow-outfit in the country, and let the questionerinterpret it as he liked. When the train thathad its nose pointed to the southwest slidinto town, Andy did not step on, as hadbeen his intention. He remained idlyleaning over the bar in Rusty Brown'splace, and gave no heed. Later, when theeastbound came schreeching through atmidnight, it found Andy Green on the

platform with his saddle, bridle, chaps,quirt and spurs neatly sacked, and with aticket for Havre in his pocket. So the wiseones said that they knew Andy wouldnever have the nerve to show up at thefair, after the fluke he had made at theFlying U ranch, and those whose pocketswere not interested considered it a verygood joke.

At Havre, Andy bought another ticket andchecked the sack which held his ridingoutfit; the ticket had Great Falls printed onit in bold, black lettering. So that he wastwelve hours late in reaching his originaldestination, and to avoid unwelcomediscovery and comment he took thesleeper and immediately ordered his berthmade up, that he might pass through Dry

Lake behind the sheltering folds of theberth curtains. Not that there was need ofthis elaborate subterfuge. He was simplymad clear through and did not want to seeor hear the voice of any man he knew.Besides, the days when he had danced inspangled tights upon the broad, gray rumpof a galloping horse while a sober-clothedman in the middle of the ring cracked awhip and yelped commands, had bred inhim the unconscious love of a spectacularentry and a dramatic finish.

That is why he sought out the most obscurerooming house that gave any promise ofdecency and comfort, and stayed offCentral Avenue and away from itsloitering groups of range dwellers whomight know him. That is why he hired a

horse and rode early and alone to the fairgrounds on the opening day, and avoided,by a roundabout trail a certain splotch ofgray-white against the brown of theprairie, which he knew instinctively to bethe camp of the Flying U outfit, which hadmade good time and were located to theirliking near the river. Andy felt a tighteningof the chest when he saw the familiartents, and kicked his hired horse ill-naturedly in the ribs. It was all so differentfrom what he had thought it would be.

In those last two weeks, he had picturedhimself riding vaingloriously through townon his best horse, with a new Navajosaddle-blanket making a dab of brightcolor, and a new Stetson hat dimpledpicturesquely as to crown and tilted

rakishly over one eye, and with his silver-mounted spurs catching the light; aroundhim would ride the Happy Family, also ingala attire and mounted upon the besthorses in their several strings. The horseswould not approve of the street-cars, andwould circle and back—and it was quitepossible, even probable, that there wouldbe some pitching and some pretty ridingbefore the gaping populace which did notoften get a chance to view the real thing.People would stop and gaze while theywent clattering by, and he, Andy Green,would be pointed out by the knowing onesas a fellow that was going to ride in thecontest and that stood a good chance ofwinning. For Andy was but human, that hedreamed of these things; besides, does notthe jumping through blazing hoops and

over sagging bunting while one rides,whet insiduously one's appetite for theplaudits of the crowd?

The reality was different. He was in GreatFalls, but he had not ridden vaingloriouslydown Central Avenue surrounded by theHappy Family, and watched by the gapingpopulace. Instead, he had chosen a sidestreet and he had ridden alone, and no onehad seemed to know or care who he mightbe. His horse had not backed, wild-eyed,before an approaching car, and he had notdone any pretty riding. Instead, his horsehad scarce turned an eye toward thejangling bell when he crossed the trackperilously close to the car, and he hadgone "side-wheeling" decorously downthe street—and Andy hated a pacing

horse. The Happy Family was in town, buthe did not know where. Andy kicked hishorse into a gallop and swore bitterly thathe did not care. He did not suppose thatthey gave him a thought, other than thoseimpelled by their jeopardized pockets.And that, he assured himselfpessimistically, is friendship!

He tied the hired horse to the fence andwent away to the stables and fraternizedwith a hump-backed jockey who knew afew things himself about riding and wasinclined to talk unprofessionally. It wasnot at all as Andy had pictured the openingday, but he got through the time somehowuntil the crowd gathered and the racingbegan. Then he showed himself in thecrowd of "peelers" and their friends, as

unconcernedly as he might; and asunobtrusively. The Happy Family, heobserved, was not there, though he metChip face to face and had a short talk withhim. Chip was the only one, aside from theOld Man, who really understood. BillyRoberts was there, and he greeted Andycommiseratingly, as one speaks to the sickor to one in mourning; the tone made Andygrind his teeth, though he knew in his heartthat Billy Roberts wished him well—up tothe point of losing the contest to him,which was beyond human nature. BillyRoberts was a rider and knew—or thoughthe knew—just how "sore" Andy must befeeling. Also, in the kindness of his hearthe tried blunderingly to hide hisknowledge.

"Going up against the rough ones?" hequeried with careful carelessness, in thehope of concealing that he had heard thetale of Andy's disgrace.

"I sure am," Andy returned laconically,with no attempt to conceal anything.

Billy Roberts opened his eyes wide, andhis mouth a little before he recoveredfrom his surprise. "Well, good luck toyuh," he managed to say, "only so yuhdon't beat me to it. I was kinda hoping yuhwas too bashful to get out and ride beforeall the ladies."

Andy, remembering his days in thesawdust ring, smiled queerly; but his heartwarmed to Billy Roberts amazingly.

They were leaning elbows on the fencebelow the grand stand, watchingdesultorily the endless preparatorymanoeuvres of three men astride the hindlegs of three pacers in sulkies. "This side-wheeling business gives me a pain," Billyremarked, as the pacers ambled by for thefourth or fifth time. "I like caballos thatdon't take all day to wind 'em up beforethey go. I been looking over our bunch.They's horses in that corral that are suregoing to do things to us twenty peelers!"

"By gracious, yes!" Andy was beginningto feel himself again. "That blue hoss—uhcourse yuh heard how he got me, andheard it with trimmings—yuh may thinkhe's a man-eater; but while he's a badhoss, all right, he ain't the one that'll get

yuh. Yuh want t' watch out, Billy, for thatHS sorrel. He's plumb wicked. He's got ahabit uh throwing himself backwards.They're keeping it quiet, maybe—but I'veseen him do it three times in one summer."

"All right—thanks. I didn't know that. Butthe blue roan—"

"The blue roan'll pitch and bawl and swapends on yuh and raise hell all around, buthe can be rode. That festive bunch up inthe reserve seats'll think it's awful, andthat the HS sorrel is a lady's hossalongside him, but a real rider can wearhim out. But that sorrel—when yuh thinkyuh got him beat, Billy, is when yuh wantto watch out!"

Billy turned his face away from a rolling

dustcloud that came down the home stretchwith the pacers, and looked curiously atAndy. Twice he started to speak and didnot finish. Then: "A man can be a sure-enough rider, and get careless and let ahorse pile him off him when he ain'tlooking, just because he knows he can ridethat horse," he said with a certaindiffidence.

"By gracious, yes!" Andy assentedemphatically. And that was the nearestthey came to discussing a delicate matterwhich was in the minds of both.

Andy was growing more at ease andfeeling more optimistic every minute.Three men still believed in him, whichwas much. Also, the crowd could notflurry him as it did some of the others who

were not accustomed to so great anaudience; rather, it acted as a tonic andbrought back the poise, the easy self-confidence which had belonged to oneAndré de Gréno, champion barebackrider. So that, when the rough-ridingbegan, Andy's nerves were placidlyasleep.

At the corral in the infield, where thehorses and men were foregathered, Andymet Slim and Happy Jack; but beyond hiscurt "Hello" and an amazed "Well, bygolly!" from Slim, no words passed.Across the corral he glimpsed some of theothers—Pink and Weary, and fartheralong, Cal Emmett and Jack Bates; butthey made no sign if they saw him, and hedid not go near them. He did not know

when his turn would come to ride, and hehad a horse to saddle at the command ofthe powers that were. Coleman, the manwho had collected the horses, almost ranover him. He said "Hello, Green," andpassed on, for his haste was great.

Horse after horse was saddled and ledperforce out into the open of the infield;man after man mounted, with more or lesstrouble, and rode to triumph or defeat.Billy Roberts was given a white-eyedlittle bay, and did some great riding. Theshouts and applause from the grand standrolled out to them in a great wave ofsound. Billy mastered the brute and rodehim back to the corral white-faced andwith beads of sweat standing thick on hisforehead.

"It ain't going to be such damn' easy money—that two hundred," he confidedpantingly to Andy, who stood near. "Thefellow that gets it will sure have to earnit."

Andy nodded and moved out where hecould get a better view. Then Colemancame and informed him hurriedly that hecame next, and Andy went back to hisplace. The horse he was to ride he hadnever seen before that day. He was a long-legged brown, with scanty mane and awicked, rolling eye. He looked capable ofalmost any deviltry, but Andy did not givemuch time to speculating upon what hewould try to do. He was still all eyes tothe infield where his predecessor wasgyrating. Then a sudden jump loosened

him so that he grabbed the horn—and itwas all over with that particularapplicant, so far as the purse and thechampionship belt were concerned. Hewas out of the contest, and presently hewas also back at the corral, explainingvolubly—and uselessly—just how it cameabout. He appeared to have a very goodreason for "pulling leather," but Andy wasnot listening and only thought absently thatthe fellow was a fool to make a talk forhimself.

Andy was clutching the stirrup andwatching a chance to put his toe into it,and the tall brown horse was circlingbackwards with occasional little side-jumps. When it was quite clear that thehorse did not mean to be mounted, Andy

reached out his hand, got a rope fromsomebody—he did not know who, though,as a matter of fact, it was Pink who gave it—and snared a front foot; presently thebrown was standing upon three legsinstead of four, and the gaping populacewondered how it was done, and cranednecks to see. After that, though the horsestill circled backwards, Andy got thestirrup and put his toe in it and went up soeasily that the ignorant might thinkanybody could do it. He dropped the ropeand saw that it was Pink who picked it up.

The brown at first did nothing at all. Thenhe gave a spring straight ahead and ranfifty yards or so, stopped and began topitch. Three jumps and he ran again;stopped and reared. It was very pretty to

look at, but Happy Jack could have riddenhim, or Slim, or any other range rider. Intwo minutes the brown was sulking, and ittook severe spurring to bring him back tothe corral. Pitch he would not. The crowdapplauded, but Andy felt cheated andlooked as he felt.

Pink edged toward him, but Andy was notin the mood for reconciliation and kept outof his way. Others of the Happy Familycame near, at divers times and places, asif they would have speech with him, but hethought he knew about what they wouldsay, and so was careful not to give them achance. When the excitement was all overfor that day he got his despised hiredhorse and went back to town with BillyRoberts, because it was good to have a

friend and because they wanted to talkabout the riding. Billy did not tell Andy,either, that he had had hard work gettingaway from his own crowd; for Billy waskind-hearted and had heard a good deal,because he had been talking with HappyJack. His sympathy was not with theHappy Family, either.

On the second afternoon, such is effect ofrigid winnowing, there were but nine mento ride. The fellow who had grabbed thesaddle horn, together with ten others,stood among the spectators and madecaustic remarks about the management, thehorses, the nine who were left and thewhole business in general. Andy grinned alittle and wondered if he would standamong them on the morrow and make

remarks. He was not worrying about it,though. He said hello to Weary, Pink andCal Emmett, and saddled a kicking,striking brute from up Sweetgrass way.

On this day the horses were wickeder, andone man came near getting his neckbroken. As it was, his collar-bonesnapped and he was carried off the infieldon a stretcher and hurried to the hospital;which did not tend to make the otherriders feel more cheerful. Andy noted thatit was the HS sorrel which did themischief, and glanced meaningly across atBilly Roberts.

Then it was his turn with the striking,kicking gray, and he mounted andprepared for what might come. The graywas an artist in his line, and pitched "high,

wide and crooked" in the most approvedfashion. But Andy, being also an artist of asort, rode easily and with a grace thatbrought much hand-clapping from thecrowd. Only the initiated reserved theirpraise till further trial; for though the graywas not to say gentle, and though it tookskill to ride him, there were a dozen,probably twice as many, men in the crowdwho could have done as well.

The Happy Family, drawn together fromhabit and because they could speak theirminds more freely, discussed Andygravely among themselves. Betting wasgrowing brisk, and if their faith had notbeen so shaken they could have got longodds on Andy.

"I betche he don't win out," Happy Jack

insisted with characteristic gloom. "Yuhwait till he goes up agin that blue roan.They're savin' that roan till the las' day—and I betche Andy'll git him. If he hangs ontill the las' day." Happy Jack laughedironically as he made the provision.

"Any you fellows got money yuh want toput up on this deal?" came the voice ofAndy behind them.

They turned, a bit shamefaced, towardhim.

"Aw, I betche—" began Happy.

"That's what I'm here for," cut in Andy."What I've got goes up—saddle, spurs—all I've got. You've done a lot uhmourning, now here's a chance to break

even on me. Speak up."

The Happy Family hesitated.

"I guess I'll stay out," dimpled Pink. "Idon't just savvy your play, Andy, and if Ilose on yuh—why, it won't be the firsttime I ever went broke."

"Well, by golly, I'll take a chance,"bellowed Slim, whose voice was everpitched to carry long distances in a highwind. "I'll bet yuh fifty dollars yuh don'tpull down that belt or purse. By golly,there's two or three men here that canride."

"There's only one that'll be the real star,"smiled Andy with unashamed egotism."Happy, how rich do you want to get off

me?"

Happy said a good deal and "betche"several things would happen—thingsutterly inconsistent with one another. Inthe end, Andy pinned him down to twentydollars against Andy's silver-mountedspurs—which was almost a third morethan the spurs were worth; but Andy hadno sympathy for Happy Jack and stuck tothe price doggedly until Happy gave in.

Jack Bates advertised his lack of faith inAndy ten dollars worth, and Cal Emmettdid the same. Irish, coming in on theafternoon train and drifting instinctively tothe vicinity of the Happy Family, cursedthem all impartially for a bunch ofquitters, slapped Andy on the back andwith characteristic impetuosity offered a

hundred dollars to anybody who daredtake him up, that Andy would win. Andthis after he had heard the tale of the blueroan and before they told him about thetwo rides already made in the contest.

It is true that Happy Jack endeavored toexpostulate, but Irish glared at him in away to make Happy squirm and stammerincoherently.

"I've heard all about it," Irish cut in, "and Idon't have to hear any more. I know arider when I see one, and my money's onAndy from start to finish. You make mesick. Weary, have you gone against ourman?" The tone was a challenge in itself.

Weary grinned goodnaturedly. "I haven'tpulled down any bets," he answered

mildly, "and I haven't put up my last centand don't intend to. I'm an engaged youngman." He shrugged his shoulders to pointthe moral. "I sure do hope Andy'll winout," he added simply.

"Hope? Why, damn it, yuh know he'llwin!" stormed Irish.

Men in their vicinity caught thebelligerence of the tone and turned about,thinking there was trouble, and the HappyFamily subsided into quieter discussion.In the end Irish, discovering that Andy hadfor the time being forsworn the shelter ofthe Flying U tents, stuck by him loyallyand forswore it also, and went with Andyto share the doubtful comfort of theobscure lodging house. For Irish was allor nothing, and to find the Happy Family

publicly opposed—or at most neutral—toa Flying U man in a rough-riding contestlike this, incensed him much.

The Happy Family began to feel less sureof themselves and a bit ashamed—thoughof just what, they were not quite clear, forsurely they had reason a-plenty fordoubting Andy Green.

The last day found the Happy Familydivided against itself and growing a bitvenomous in its remarks. Andy had not asyet done anything remarkable, exceptperhaps keep in the running when thetwenty had been culled to three: BillyRoberts, Andy and a man from theYellowstone Valley, called Gopher by hisacquaintances. Accident and untowardcircumstances had thrown out the others—

good riders all of them, or they would nothave been there. Happy Jack proclaimedloudly in camp that Andy was still inbecause Andy had not had a real badhorse. "I seen Coleman looking over theblue roan and talkin' to them guys that runsthings; they're goin' t' put Andy on him t-day, I betche—and we seen how he canride him! Piled in a heap—"

"Not exactly," Pink interrupted. "I seem toremember Andy lighting on his feet; andhe was smoking when he started, andsmoking when he quit. It didn't strike me atthe time, but that's kinda funny, don't yuhthink?"

So Pink went back to his first faith, andthe Happy Family straightway becameloud and excited over the question of

whether Andy did really light upon hisfeet, or jumped up immediately, andwhether he kept his cigarette or made anew one. The discussion carried them tothe fair grounds and remained just whereit started, so far as any amicable decisionwas concerned.

Now this is a fair and true report of thatlast day's riding: There being but the threeriders, and the excitement growing apace,the rough-riding was put first on theprogram and men struggled for the bestplaces and the best view of the infield.

In the beginning, Andy drew the HS sorreland Billy Roberts the blue roan. Gopher,the Yellowstone man, got a sulky littlebuckskin that refused to add one whit tothe excitement, so that he was put back

and another one brought. This otherproved to be the wicked-eyed brownwhich Andy had ridden the first day. Onlythis day the brown was in different moodand pitched so viciously that Gopher lostcontrol in the rapid-fire changes, and rodewild, being all over the horse andeverywhere but on the ground. He did notpull leather, however though he wasaccused by some of riding on his spurs atthe last. At any rate, Andy and BillyRoberts felt that the belt lay betweenthemselves, and admitted as muchprivately.

"You've sure got to ride like a wild man ifyuh beat me to it," grinned Billy.

"By gracious, I'm after it like a wolfmyself," Andy retorted. "Yuh know how

I'm fixed—I've just got to have it, Bill."

Billy, going out to ride, made no replyexcept a meaning head-shake. And Billycertainly rode, that day; for the blue roandid his worst and his best. To describe theperformance, however, would be to inventmany words to supply a dearth in thelanguage. Billy rode the blue roan back tothe corral, and he had broken none of thestringent rules of the contest—which issaying much for Billy.

When Andy went out—shot out, one mightsay—on the sorrel, the Happy Familyconsidered him already beaten because ofthe remarkable riding of Billy. When thesorrel began pitching the gaping populace,grown wise overnight in these things, saidthat he was e-a-s-y—which he was not.

He fought as some men fight; with brain aswell as muscle, cunningly, malignantly.He would stop and stand perfectly still fora few seconds, and then spring viciouslywhichever way would seem to him mostunexpected; for he was not bucking fromfright as most horses do but because hehated men and would do them injury if hecould.

When the crowd thought him worn out, sothat he stood with head drooping all thatAndy would permit, then it was that Andygrew most wary. It was as he had said. Ofa sudden, straight into the air leaped thesorrel, reared and went backward in aflash of red. But as he went, his riderslipped to one side, and when he struckthe ground Andy struck also—on his feet.

"Get up, darn yuh," he muttered, and whenthe sorrel gathered himself together andjumped up, he was much surprised to findAndy in the saddle again.

Then it was that the HS sorrel went madand pitched as he had never, even whenbuilding his record, pitched before. Thenit was that Andy, his own temper a bitroughened by the murderous brute, rode ashe had not ridden for many a day; down inthe saddle, his quirt keeping time with thejumps. He was just settling himself to"drag it out of him proper," when one ofthe judges, on horseback in the field,threw up his hand.

"Get off!" he shouted, galloping closer."That horse's got to be rode again to-day.You've done enough this time."

So Andy, watching his chance, jumped offwhen the sorrel stopped for a few secondsof breath, and left him unconquered andmore murderous than ever. A man with amegaphone was announcing that thecontest was yet undecided, and that Greenand Roberts would ride again later in theafternoon.

Andy passed the Happy Family head inair, stopped a minute to exchangefacetious threats with Billy Roberts, andwent with Irish to roost upon the fencenear the judge's stand to watch the races.The Happy Family kept sedulously awayfrom the two and tried to grow interestedin other things until the final test.

It came, when Billy Roberts, again first,mounted the HS sorrel, still in murderous

mood and but little the worse for hisprevious battle. What he had done withAndy he repeated, and added much venomto the repetition. Again he threw himselfbackward, which Billy expected and sogot clear and remounted as he scrambledup. After that, the sorrel simply pitched sohard and so fast that he loosened Billy abit; not much, but enough to "showdaylight" between rider and saddle fortwo or three high, crooked jumps. Onestirrup he lost, rode a jump without it andby good luck regained it as it flew againsthis foot. It was great riding, and agratifying roar of applause swept out tohim when it was over.

Andy, saddling the blue roan, drew a longbreath. This one ride would tell the tale,

and he was human enough to feel anervous strain such as had not beforeassailed him. It was so close, now! and itmight soon be so far. A bit of bad lucksuch as may come to any man, howevergreat his skill, and the belt would go toBilly. But not for long could doubt orquestioning hold Andy Green. He led theWeaver out himself, and instinctively hefelt that the horse remembered him andwould try all that was in him. Also, hewas somehow convinced that the blueroan held much in reserve, and that itwould be a great fight between them formastery.

When he gathered up the reins, the roaneyed him wickedly sidelong and tightenedhis muscles, as it were, for the struggle.

Andy turned the stirrup, put in his toe, andwent up in a flash, warned by something inthe blue roan's watchful eye. Like a flashthe blue roan also went up—but Andy hadbeen a fraction of a second quicker. Therewas a squeal that carried to the grandstand as the Weaver, wild-eyed and withred flaring nostrils, pounded the wind-baked sod with high, bone-racking jumps;changed and took to "weaving" till onewondered how he kept his footing—moreparticularly, how Andy contrived to sitthere, loose-reined, firm-seated, ridingeasily. The roan, tiring of that, began"swapping ends" furiously and so fast onecould scarce follow his jumps. Andy, witha whoop of pure defiance, yanked off hishat and beat the roan over the head with it,yelling taunting words and contemptuous;

and for every shout the Weaver buckedharder and higher, bawling like a new-weaned calf.

Men who knew good riding when theysaw it went silly and yelled and yelled.Those who did not know anything about itcaught the infection and roared. Thejudges galloped about, backing away fromthe living whirlwind and yelling with therest. Came a lull when the roan stood stillbecause he lacked breath to continue, andthe judges shouted an uneven chorus.

"Get down—the belt's yours"—or wordsto that effect. It was unofficial, thatverdict, but it was unanimous and voicedwith enthusiasm.

Andy turned his head and smiled

acknowledgment. "All right—but wait tillI tame this hoss proper! Him and I've got apoint to settle!" He dug in his spurs andagain the battle raged, and again thecrowd, not having heard the unofficialdecision, howled and yelled approval ofthe spectacle.

Not till the roan gave up completely andowned obedience to rein and voicedcommand, did Andy take further thought ofthe reward. He satisfied himself beyonddoubt that he was master and that theWeaver recognized him as such. Hewheeled and turned, "cutting out" animaginary animal from an imaginary herd;he loped and he walked, stopped deadstill in two jumps and started in one. Heleaned and ran his gloved hand forgivingly

along the slatey blue neck, reached fartherand pulled facetiously the roan's ears, andthe roan meekly permitted the liberties. Hehalf turned in the saddle and slapped theplump hips, and the Weaver never moved."Why, you're an all-right little hoss!"praised Andy, slapping again and again.

The decision was being bellowed fromthe megaphone and Andy, hearing it thusofficially, trotted over to where a manwas holding out the belt that proclaimedhim champion of the state. Andy reachedout a hand for the belt, buckled it aroundhis middle and saluted the grand stand ashe used to do from the circus ring whenone André de Grenó had performed hismost difficult feat.

The Happy Family crowded up,

shamefaced and manfully willing to ownthemselves wrong.

"We're down and ready to be walked onby the Champion," Weary announcedquizzically. "Mama mine! but yuh sure canride."

Andy looked at them, grinned and did anexceedingly foolish thing, just to humiliateHappy Jack, who, he afterwards said, stilllooked unconvinced. He coolly got uponhis feet in the saddle, stood so while hesaluted the Happy Family mockingly,lighted the cigarette he had just rolled,then, with another derisive salute, turned adouble somersault in the air and lightedupon his feet—and the roan did nothingmore belligerent than to turn his head andeye Andy suspiciously.

"By gracious, maybe you fellows'll someday own up yuh don't know it all!" hecried, and led the Weaver back into thecorral and away from the whoopingmaniacs across the track.

ANDY, THE LIARAndy Green licked a cigarette into shapethe while he watched with unfriendly eyesthe shambling departure of their guest. "Ibelieve the darned old reprobate was lyin'to us," he remarked, when the horsemandisappeared into a coulee.

"You sure ought to be qualified torecognize the symptoms," grunted CalEmmett, kicking his foot out ofsomebody's carelessly coiled rope on theground. "That your rope, Happy? Nowonder you're always on the bum for one.If you'd try tying it on your saddle—"

"Aw, g'wan. That there's Andy's rope—"

"If you look at my saddle, you'll find myrope right where it belongs," Andyretorted. "I ain't sheepherder enough toleave it kicking around under foot. Thatrope belongs to his nibs that just rode off.When he caught up his horse again afterdinner, he throwed his rope down whilehe saddled up, and then went off andforgot it. He wasn't easy in his mind—thatjasper wasn't. I don't go very high on thathard-luck tale he told. I know the boy hehad wolfing with him last winter, and hewasn't the kind to pull out with all the stuffhe could get his hands on. He was an all-right fellow, and if there's been any rustywork done down there in the breaks, thisshifty-eyed mark done it. He was lying—"

Somebody laughed suddenly, and anotherchuckle helped to point the joke, until thewhole outfit was in an uproar; for of allthe men who had slept under Flying-Utents and eaten beside the mess-wagon,Andy Green was conceded to be thegreatest, the most shameless and whollyincorrigible liar of the lot.

"Aw, yuh don't want to get jealous of anold stiff like that," Pink soothed musically."There ain't one of us but what knows youcould lie faster and farther and more of itin a minute, with your tongue half-hitchedaround your palate and the deaf-and-dumblanguage barred, than any three men inChouteau County. Don't let it worry yuh,Andy."

"I ain't letting it worry me," said Andy,

getting a bit red with trying not to showthat the shot hit him. "When myimagination gets to soaring, I'm willing tobet all I got that it can fly higher than therest of you, that have got brains about on apar with a sage-hen, can follow. When Ilet my fancy soar, I take notice the rest ofyuh like to set in the front row, all right—and yuh never, to my knowledge, called ita punk show when the curtain rung down;yuh always got the worth uh your money,and then some.

"But if yuh'd taken notice of the load thatold freak was trying to throw into thebunch, you'd suspicion there wassomething scaley about it; there was, allright. I'd gamble on it."

"From the symptoms," spoke Weary

mildly, rising to an elbow, "Andy's aboutto erupt one of those wide, hot, rushingstreams of melted imagination that burstsforth from his think-works ever so often.Don't get us all worked up over it, Andy;what's it going to be this time? A murderin the Bad-lands?"

Andy clicked his teeth together, thoughtbetter of his ill-humor and made reply,though he had intended to remaindignifiedly silent.

"Yuh rung the bell, m'son—but it ain't anyjosh. By gracious, I mean it!" He glared atthose who gurgled incredulously, andwent on: "No, sir, you bet it ain't any joshwith me this time. That old gazabo hadsomething heavy on his conscience—andknowing the fellow he had reference to, I

sure believe he lied a whole lot when hesaid Dan pulled out with all the stuffthey'd got together, and went down river.Maybe he went down river, all right—butif he did, it was most likely to be face-down. Dan was as honest a boy as there isin the country, and he had money on himthat he got mining down in the littleRockies last summer. I know, because heshowed me the stuff last fall when I methim in Benton, and he was fixing to winterwith this fellow that just left.

"Dan was kinda queer about some things,and one of 'em was about money. It nevermade any difference how much or howlittle he had, he always packed it in hisclothes; said a bank had busted on himonce and left him broke in the middle uh

winter, and he wasn't going to let ithappen again. He never gambled none, norblowed his money any farther than acouple uh glasses uh beer once in a while.He was one uh these saving cusses—buthe was honest; I know that for a fact.

"So he had all this money on him, andwent down there with this jasper, that he'dgot in with somehow and didn't knowmuch about, and they wolfed all winter,according to all accounts, and must uhmade quite a stake, the way the bountyruns up, these days. And here comes thisdarned Siwash, hiking out uh there fast ashe can—and if he hadn't run slap onto usat this crossing, I'll gamble he'd never uhshowed up at camp at all, but kept right ongoing. We didn't ask him no questions, did

we? But he goes to all the pains uh tellingus his tale uh woe, about how Dan hadrobbed him and pulled out down river.

"If that was the case, wouldn't he be apt tohike out after him and try and get back hisstuff? And wouldn't—"

"How much money did this friend uh yourshave?" queried Jack Bates innocently.

"Well, when I seen him in Benton, he hadsomewhere between six and sevenhundred dollars. He got it all changed intofifty-dollar bills—"

"Oh, golly!" Jack Bates rolled over indisgust. "Andy's losing his grip. Why, darnyuh, if you was in a normal, lyingcondition, you'd make it ten thousand, at

the lowest—and I've seen the time whenyou'd uh said fifty thousand; and you'd uhmade us swallow the load, too! Buck upand do a good stunt, Andy, or else keepstill. Why, Happy Jack could tell that big alie!"

"Aw, gwan!" Happy Jack rose up toavenge the insult. "Yuh needn't compareme to Andy Green. I ain't a liar, and I canlick the darned son-of-a-gun that calls meone. I ain't, and yuh can't say I am, unlessyuh lie worse'n Andy."

"Calm down," urged Weary pacifically."Jack said yuh could lie; he didn't say—"

"By gracious, you'd think I was necked upwith a whole bunch uh GeorgeWashingtons!" growled Andy, half-

indignantly. "And what gets me is, that Itell the truth as often as anybody in theoutfit; oftener than some I could mention.But that ain't the point. I'm telling the truthnow, when I say somebody ought to hikedown to their camp and see what this oldskunk has done with Dan. I'd bet moneyyou'd find him sunk in the river, or cachedunder a cut-bank, or something like that. Ifhe'd kept his face closed I wouldn't uhgive it a second thought, but the more Ithink uh the story he put up, the more Ibelieve there's something wrong. He'smade way with Dan somehow, and—"

"Yes. Sure thing," drawled Pink wickedly."Let's organize a searching party and godown there and investigate. It's only abouta three or four days' trip, through the

roughest country the Lord ever stood onend to cool and then forgot till it crumpleddown in spots and got set that way, so Hejust left it go and mixed fresh mud for thejob He was working on. Andy'd lead usdown there, and we'd find—"

"His friend Dan buried in a tomato can,maybe," supplied Jack Bates.

"By golly, I'll bet yuh could put friend Daninto one," Slim burst out. "By golly, Inever met up with no Dan that packedfifty-dollar bills around in his gun-pocket—"

"Andy's telling the truth. He says so,"reproved Weary. "And when Andy says athing is the truth, yuh always know—"

"It ain't." Cal Emmett finished thesentence, but Weary paid no attention.

"—what to expect. Cadwolloper's right,and we ought to go down there and make ahunt for friend Dan and his fifty-dollarbills. How many were there, did yuh say?"

"You go to the devil," snapped Andy,getting up determinedly. "Yuh bite quickenough when anybody throws a load atyuh that would choke a rhinoscerous, butplain truth seems to be too much for theweak heads of yuh. I guess I'll have to turnloose and lie, so yuh'll listen to me. Thereis something crooked about this deal—"

"We all thought it sounded that way,"Weary remarked mildly.

"And if yuh did go down to where themtwo wintered, you'd find out I'm right. Butyuh won't, and that old cutthroat will getoff with the murder—and the money."

"Don't he lie natural?" queried Jack Batessolemnly.

That was too much. Andy glared angrily atthe group, picked up the wolfer's rope,turned on his heel and walked off to wherehis horse was tied; got on him and rodeaway without once looking back, thoughhe knew quite well that they werewatching every move he made. It did nothelp to smooth his temper that the sound ofmuch laughing followed him as he swunginto the trail taken by the man who had leftnot long before.

Where he went, that afternoon when forsome reason sufficient for the foreman—who was Chip Bennett—the Flying Uroundup crew lay luxuriously snoring inthe shade instead of riding hurriedly andhotly the high divides, no one but Andyhimself knew. They talked about him afterhe left, and told one another how great aliar he was, and how he couldn't help itbecause he was born that way, and howyou could hardly help believing him. Theyrecalled joyously certain of hisfabrications that had passed into thehistory of the Flying U, and wonderedwhat josh he was trying to spring thistime.

"What we ought to do," advised Cal, "is tolead him on and let him lie his darndest,

and make out we believe him. And thenwe can give him the laugh good and plenty—and maybe cure him."

"Cure nothing!" exclaimed Jack Bates,getting up because the sun had discoveredhim, and going over to the mess-wagonwhere a bit of shade had been leftunoccupied. "About the only way to cureAndy of lying, is to kill him. He wasworking his way up to some big josh, andif yuh let him alone you'll find out what itis, all right. I wouldn't worry none aboutit, if I was you." To prove that he did notworry, Jack immediately went to sleep.

Such being the attitude of the HappyFamily, when Andy rode hurriedly intocamp at sundown, his horse wet to the tipsof his ears with sweat, they sat up,

expectancy writ large upon their faces. Noone said anything, however, while Andyunsaddled and came over to beg a belatedsupper from the cook; nor yet while hesquatted on his heels beside the cook-tentand ate hungrily. He seemed somewhatabsorbed in his thoughts, and they decidedmentally that Andy was a sure-enoughgood actor, and that if they were not deadnext to him and his particular weakness,they would swallow his yarn whole—whatever it was. A blood-red glow was inthe sky to the west, and it lighted Andy'sface queerly, like a vivid blush on the faceof a girl.

Andy scraped his plate thoughtfully withhis knife, looked into his coffee-cup,stirred the dregs absently and dipped out

half a spoonful of undissolved sugar,which he swallowed meditatively. Hetossed plate, cup and spoon toward thedishpan, sent knife and fork after them andgot out his smoking material. And theHappy Family, grouped rather closelytogether and watching unobtrusively,stirred to the listening point. The liar wasabout to lie.

"Talk about a guilty conscience giving aman dead away," Andy began, quiteunconscious of the mental attitude of hisfellows, and forgetting also his anger ofthe afternoon, "it sure does work out likethat, sometimes. I followed that old devil,just out uh curiosity, to see if he headedfor Dry Lake like he said he was going.We didn't have any reason for keeping

cases on him, or suspicioning anything—but he acted like we was all out on histrail, the fool!

"I kinda had a hunch that if he had been upto any deviltry, it would show on himwhen he left here, and I was plumb rightabout it. He went all straight enough till hegot down into Black Coulee; and rightthere it looked like he got kinda panickyand suspicious, for he turned square offthe trail and headed up the coulee."

"He must uh had 'em," Weary commented,quite as if he believed.

"Yuh wait till I'm through," Andy advised,still wholly unconscious of their disbelief."Yuh was all kinda skeptical when I toldyuh he had a guilty conscience, but I was

right about it, and come mighty near layingout on the range to-night with my toespointing straight up, just because youfellows wouldn't—"

"Sun-stroke?" asked Pink, coming closer,his eyes showing purple in the softenedlight.

"No—yuh wait, now, till I tell yuh."Whereupon Andy smoked relishfully andin silence, and from the tail of his eyewatched his audience squirm withimpatience. "A man gets along a whole lotbetter without any conscience," he beganat last, irrelevantly, "'specially if he wantsto be mean. I trailed this jasper up thecoulee and out on the bench, across thatlevel strip between Black Coulee and DrySpring Gulch, and down the gulch a mile

or so. He was fogging right along, andseemed as if he looked back every tenrods—I know he spotted me just as Istruck the level at the head uh BlackCoulee, because he acted different then.

"I could see he was making across countryfor the trail to Chinook, but I wanted tooverhaul him and have a little casual talkabout Dan. I don't suppose yuh noticed Itook his rope along; I wanted some excusefor hazing after him like that, yuh see."

"Uh course, such accommodating cussesas you wouldn't be none strange to him,"fleered Cal.

"Well, he never found out what I wasafter," sighed Andy. "It wasn't my fault Ididn't come up with him, and my intentions

were peaceful and innocent. But do yuhknow what happened? He got out uh sightdown Dry Spring Gulch—yuh knowwhere that elephant-head rock sticks out,and the trail makes a short turn around it—that's where I lost sight of him. But hewasn't very far in the lead, and I was deadanxious to give him his rope, so I loped ondown—"

"You were taking long chances, old-timer;that's mighty rough going, along there,"hinted Chip, gravely.

"Sure, I was," Andy agreed easily. "Butyuh recollect, I was in a hurry. So I'd justrounded the elephant's head, when bing!something spats the rock, just over myright shoulder, and my horse squatteddown on his rump and said he'd gone far

enough. I kinda felt the same way about it,so when he wheeled and humped himselfback up the trail, I didn't argue none withhim."

There was silence so deep one could hearthe saddle-bunch cropping the thickgrasses along the creek. If this were true—this tale that Andy was telling—TheHappy Family, half tempted to believe,glanced furtively at one another.

"Aw, gwan!" It was the familiar,protesting croak of Happy Jack. "What didyuh turn tail for? Why didn't yuh have itout with him?" The Happy Family drew along breath, and the temptation to believewas pushed aside.

"Because my gun was rolled up in my

bed," Andy replied simply. "I ain't asbrave as you are, Happy. I ain't got thenerve to ride right up on a man that'sscared plumb silly and pumping lead myway fast as he can work the lever on hisrifle, and lick him with my fists till hehowls, and then throw him and walk upand down his person and flap my wingsand crow. It's awful to have to confess it,but I'm willing to run from any man that'sshooting at me when I can't shoot back. I'dgive a lot to be as brave as you are,Happy."

Happy Jack growled and subsided.

"Well, by golly, there's times when we'dbe justified in shooting yuh, but I don't seewhat he'd want to do it for," objectedSlim.

"Guilty conscience, I told yuh," retortedAndy. "He seen I was chasing him up, andI guess he thought it was somebody thathad got next to what happened—Lord, Iwish I knew what did happen, down therein the breaks! Boys," Andy got up andstood looking earnestly down at them inthe twilight, "you can't make me believethat there hasn't been a murder done! Thatfellow has been up to something, or hewouldn't be acting so damn' queer. And ifit was just plain stealing, Dan would surebe hot on his trail—because Dan thoughtmore of his money than most men do oftheir wives. It was about all he lived for,and he wasn't any coward. That old mannever would get it off him without a bigruction, and if he did, Dan would be rightafter him bigger'n a wolf. There's

something wrong, you take my word."

"What do yuh want us to do about it?" Itwas Chip who asked the question, and histone was quite calm and impersonal.

Andy looked at him reproachfully. "Do?What is there to do, except go down thereand see? If we can find that out, we canput the sheriff wise and let him do the rest.It sure does seem kinda tough, if a man cando a murder and robbery and get off withit, just because nobody cares enough aboutit to head him off."

The Happy Family stirred uneasily. Ofcourse, it was all just a josh of Andy's—but he was such a convincing liar! Almostthey felt guilty of criminal negligence thatthey did not at once saddle up and give

chase to the murderer, who had tried tokill Andy for following him, and who washeaded for Chinook after unnecessarilyproclaiming himself bound for Dry Lake.

"Do you want the whole outfit to turnout?" asked Chip calmly at last.

"No-o—"

"Say, is it anywheres near that prehistoriccastle you found once?" Ping askedmaliciously, unbelief getting strong holdof him again.

Andy turned toward him, scowling. "No,Angel-child, it ain't," he snapped. "Andyou fellows can back up and snort all yuhdarn please, and make idiots ofyourselves. But yuh can't do any business

making me out a hot-air peddler on thisdeal. I stand pat, just where I stood atfirst, and it'll take a lot uh cackling tomake me back down. That old devil didlie about Dan, and he did take a shot at me—"

"He took yuh for a horse-thief, mostlikely," explained Jack Bates.

"He didn't need no field glass to see youwas a suspicious character, by golly,"chortled Slim.

"He thought yuh was after what little yourfriend Dan had overlooked, chances is,"added Cal Emmett.

"Did the fog roll down and hide thehorrible sight?" asked Jack Bates.

That, and much more, brought about adistinct coldness between the HappyFamily and one Andy Green, so that thesun went down upon Andy's wrath, androse to find it still bubbling hotly in theoutraged heart of him.

It was Jack Bates who precipitated anopen war by singing an adapted version of"Massa's In the Cold, Cold Ground," justwhen they were eating breakfast. As analleged musical effort it was bad enough,but as a personal insult it was worse. Onehesitates to repeat the doggerel, even in aneffort to be exact. However, the chorus,bellowed shamelessly by Jack, was this:

"Down in the Bad-lands, hear thatawful sound.Andy Green is there a-weeping

—"

Jack Bates got no further than that, forAndy first threw his plate at Jack and thenlanded upon him with much force andvenom, so that Jack went backwards andwaved long legs convulsively in the air,and the Happy Family stood around andhowled their appreciation of thespectacle.

When it dawned upon them that Andy wasvery much in earnest, and that his fist waslanding with unpleasant frequency justwhere it was most painful to receive it,they separated the two by main strengthand argued loudly for peace. But Andywas thoroughly roused and would havenone of it, and hurled at them profanityand insulting epithets, so that more than

Jack Bates looked upon him withunfriendly eyes and said things whichwere not calculated to smooth roughenedtempers.

"That's a-plenty, now," quelled Chip,laying detaining hand upon the nearest,who happened to be Andy himself. "Yousound like a bunch of old women. What doyou want to do the worst and quickest,Andy?—and I don't mean killing off any ofthese alleged joshers, either."

Andy clicked his teeth together,swallowed hard and slowly unclenchedhis hands and grinned; but the grin was notaltogether a pleasant one, and the light ofbattle still shone in the big, gray eyes ofhim.

"You're the boss," he said, "but if yuhdon't like my plans you'll just have oneless to pay wages to. What I'm going to dois throw my saddle on my private horseand ride down into the Bad-lands and seefor myself how the cards lay. Maybe it'sawful funny to the rest of yuh, but I'mtakin' it kinda serious, myself, and I'mgoing to find out how about it before I'mthrough. I can't seem to think it's a joshwhen some old mark makes a play likethat fellow did, and tries to put a bulletinto my carcass for riding the same trail hetook. It's me for the Bad-lands—and youcan think what yuh damn' please about it."

Chip stood quite still till he was through,and eyed him sharply. "You better take oldBuck to pack your blankets and grub," he

told him, in a matter-of-fact tone. "We'llbe swinging down that way in two or threedays; by next Saturday you'll find uscamped at the mouth of Jump-off Coulee,if nothing happens. That'll give you fourdays to prowl around. Come on, boys—we've got a big circle ahead of us thismorning, and it's going to be hot enough tosinge the tails off our cayuses by noon."

That, of course, settled the disturbanceand set the official seal of approval uponAndy's going; for Chip was too wise topermit the affair to grow serious, andperhaps lose a man as good as Andy;family quarrels had not been entirelyunknown among the boys of the Flying U,and with tact they never had been morethan a passing unpleasantness. So that,

although Jack Bates swore vengeance andnursed sundry bruised spots on his face,and though Andy saddled, packed oldBuck with his blankets and meager campoutfit and rode off sullenly with no wordto anyone and only a scowling glance ortwo for farewell, Chip mounted and rodecheerfully away at the head of his HappyFamily, worrying not at all over theoutcome.

"I've got half a notion that Andy wastelling the truth, after all," he remarked toWeary when they were well away fromcamp. "It's worth taking a chance on,anyhow—and when he comes back thingswill be smooth again."

When Saturday came and brought no Andyto camp, the Happy Family began to

speculate upon his absence. WhenSunday's circle took them within twelveor fifteen miles of the camp in the Bad-lands, Pink suddenly proposed that theyride down there and see what was goingon. "He won't be looking for us," heexplained, to hide a secret uneasiness."And if he's there we can find out what thejosh is. If he ain't, we'll have it on himgood and strong."

"I betche Andy just wanted a lay-off, andtook that way uh getting it," declaredHappy Jack pessimistically. "I betche he'sin town right now, tearing things wideopen and tickled to think he don't have toride in this hot sun. Yuh can't never tellwhat Andy's got cached up his sleeve."

"Chip thinks he was talking on the level,"

Weary mused. "Maybe he was; as Happysays, yuh can't tell."

As always before, this brought the HappyFamily to argument which lasted till theyneared the deep, lonely coulee where,according to Andy, "friend Dan" hadwintered with the shifty-eyed old man.

"Now, how the mischief do we getdown?" questioned Jack Batescomplainingly. "This is bound to be theright place—there's the cabin over thereagainst the cottonwoods."

"Aw, come on back," urged Happy Jack,viewing the steep bluff with disfavor."Chances is, Andy's in town right now. Heain't down—"

"There's old Buck, over there by thecreek," Pink announced. "I'd know him faras I could see him. Let's ride around thatway. There's sure to be a trail down." Hestarted off, and they followed himdispiritedly, for the heat was something toremember afterwards with a shudder.

"Here's the place," Pink called back tothem, after some minutes of riding."Andy's horse is down there, too, but Idon't see Andy—"

"Chances is—" began Happy Jack, butfound no one listening.

It would be impossible to ride down, sothey dismounted and prepared for thescramble. They could see Buck, packed asif for the homeward trail, and they could

see Andy's horse, saddled and feedingwith reins dragging. He looked up at themand whinnied, and the sound butaccentuated the loneliness of the place.Buck, too, saw them and came towardthem, whinnying wistfully; but, though theystrained eyes in every direction, theycould see nothing of the man they sought.

It was significant of their apprehensionthat not even Happy Jack made opencomment upon the strangeness of it.Instead, they dug bootheels deep wherethe slope was loose gravel, and watchedthat their horses did not slide down uponthem; climbed over rocks where the waywas barred, and prayed that horse andman might not break a leg. They had beenover rough spots, and had climbed in and

out of deep coulees, but never had theytravelled a rougher trail than that.

"My God! boys, look down there!" Pinkcried, when yet fifty perpendicular feet laybetween them and the level below.

They looked, and drew breath sharply.Huddled at the very foot of the last andworst slope lay Andy, and they needed nowords to explain what had happened. Itwas evident that he had started to climbthe bluff and had slipped and fallen to thebottom, And from the way he was lying—The Happy Family shut out the horror ofthe thought and hurried recklessly to theplace.

It was Pink who, with a last slide and astumbling recovery at the bottom, reached

him first. It was Jack Bates who came aclose second and helped to turn him—forhe had fallen partly on his face. From theway one arm was crumpled back underhim, they knew it to be broken. Furtherthan that they could only guess and hope.While they were feeling for heart-beats,the others came down and crowded close.Pink looked up at them strainedly.

"Oh, for God's sake, some of yuh getwater," he cried sharply. "What good doyuh think you're doing, just standingaround?"

"We ought to be hung for letting him comedown here alone," Weary repented. "Itain't safe for one man in this cursedcountry. Where's he hurt, Cadwolloper?"

"How in hell do I know?" Anxiety eversharpened the tongue of Pink. "Ifsomebody'd bring some water—"

"Happy's gone. And there ain't a drop uhwhisky in the crowd! Can't we get himinto the shade? This damned sun is enoughto—"

"Look out how yuh lift him, man! You ain'twrassling a calf, remember! You take hisshoulder, Jack—easy, yuh damned,awkward—"

"Here comes Happy, with his hat full.Don't slosh it all on at once! A little at atime's better. Get some on his head."

So with much incoherence and witheverybody giving orders and each acting

independently, they bore him tenderly intothe shade of a rock and worked over himfeverishly, their faces paler than his.When he opened his eyes and stared atthem dully, they could have shouted forvery relief. When he closed them againthey bent over him solicitously anddripped more water from the hat of HappyJack. And not one of them but rememberedremorsefully the things they had said ofhim, not an hour before; the things they hadsaid even when he was lying there aloneand hurt—hurt unto death, for all theyknew.

When he was roused enough to groanwhen they moved him, however gently,they began to consider the problem ofgetting him to camp, and they cursed the

long, hot miles that lay between. Theytried to question him, but if he understoodwhat they were saying he could not replyexcept by moaning, which was not good tohear. All that they could gather was thatwhen they moved his body in a certainway the pain of it was unbearable. Also,he would faint when his head waslowered, or even lifted above the level.They must guard against that if they meantto get him to camp alive.

"We'll have to carry him up this cussedhill, and then—If he could ride at all, wemight make it."

"The chances is he'll die on the road,"croaked Happy Jack tactlessly, and theyscowled at him for voicing the fear theywere trying to ignore. They had been

trying not to think that he might die on theroad, and they had been careful not tomention the possibility. As it was, no oneanswered.

How they ever got him to the top of thatheartbreaking slope, not one of them everknew. Twice he fainted outright. AndHappy Jack, carefully bearing his hat fullof water for just that emergency, slippedand spilled the whole of it just when theyneeded it most. At the last, it was as ifthey carried a dead man between them—Jack Bates and Cal Emmett it was whobore him up the last steep climb—andPink and Weary, coming behind with allthe horses, glanced fearfully into eachother's eyes and dared not question.

At the top they laid him down in the grass

and swore at Happy Jack, because theymust do something, and because theydared not face what might be before them.They avoided looking at one anotherwhile they stood helplessly beside the stillfigure of the man they had maligned. If hedied, they would always have that bitterspot in their memory—and even with thefear of his dying they stood remorseful.

Of a sudden Andy opened his eyes andlooked at them with the light ofrecognition, and they bent eagerly towardhim. "If—yuh could—on—my horse—I—I—could ride—maybe." Much pain it costhim, they knew by the look on his face.But he was game to the last—just as theyknew he would be.

"Yuh couldn't ride Twister, yuh know yuh

couldn't," Pink objected gently. "But—ifyuh could ride Jack's horse—he's deadgentle, and we'd help hold yuh on. Do youthink yuh could?"

Andy moved his head uneasily. "I—I'vegot to," he retorted weakly, and evenessayed a smile to reassure them. "I—ain'tall—in yet," he added with an evidenteffort, and the Happy Family gulpedsympathetically, and wondered secretly ifthey would have such nerve under likeconditions.

"It's going to be one hell of a trip for yuh,"Weary murmured commiseratingly, whenthey were lifting him into the saddle. Of atruth, it did seem absolutely foolhardy toattempt it, but there was nothing else todo, unless they left him there. For no

wagon could possibly be driven withinmiles of the place.

Andy leaned limply over the saddle-horn,his face working with the agony hesuffered. Somehow they had got him uponthe horse of Jack Bates, but they had feltlike torturers while they did it, and theperspiration on their faces was not allcaused by heat.

"My God, I'd rather be hung than gothrough this again," muttered Cal, whiteunder the tan. "I—"

"I'll tackle—it now," gasped Andy, with apitiful attempt to sit straight in the saddle."Get on—boys—"

Reluctantly they started to obey, when the

horse of Jack Bates gave a sudden leapahead. Many hands reached out to grasphim by the bridle, but they were a shadetoo late, and he started to run, with Andyswaying in the saddle. While they gazedhorrified, he straightened convulsively,turned his face toward them and raised ahand; caught his hat by the brim and swungit high above his head.

"Much obliged, boys," he yelledderisively. "I sure do appreciate beingpacked up that hill; it was too blamed hotto walk. Say! if you'd gone around thatbend, you'd uh found a good trail down.Yuh struck about the worst place there is.So-long—I ain't all in yet!" He gallopedaway, while the Happy Family stared afterhim with bulging eyes.

"The son-of-a-gun!" gasped Wearyweakly, and started for his horse.

"Darn yuh, you'll be all in when we gethold of yuh!" screamed Jack Bates, andgave chase.

It was when they were tearing headlongafter him down the coulee's rim and into ashallow gully which seamed unexpectedlythe level, that they saw his horse swervesuddenly and go bounding along the edgeof the slope with Andy "sawing"energetically upon the bit.

"What trick's he up to now?" cried CalEmmett resentfully, feeling that, in thelight of what had gone before, Andy couldnot possibly make a single motion in goodfaith.

Andy brought his horse under control andturned back to meet them, and the HappyFamily watched him guardedly until theyreached the gulley and their own horsestook fright at a dark, shambling object thatscuttled away down toward the coulee-head. Andy was almost upon them beforethey could give him any attention.

"Did you see it?" he called excitedly. "Itwas a bear, and he was digging atsomething under that shelving rock. Comeon and let's take a look."

"Aw, gwan!" Happy Jack adjured crossly.He was thinking of all the water he hadcarried painstakingly in his hat, for therelief of this conscienceless youngreprobate, and he was patently suspiciousof some new trick.

"Well, by gracious!" Andy rode quiteclose—dangerously close, considering themood they were in—and eyed themqueerly. "I sure must have a horrible rep,when yuh won't believe your own eyesjust because I happen to remark that a bearis a bear. I'll call it a pinto hog, if it'llmake yuh feel any better. And I'll say itwasn't doing any digging; only, I'm goingdown there and take a look. There's anodor—"

There was, and they could not deny it,even though Andy did make the assertion.And though they had threatened much thatwas exceedingly unpleasant, and whatthey would surely do to Andy if they evergot him within reach, they followed himquite peaceably.

They saw him get off his horse and standlooking down at something—and therewas that in his attitude which made themjab spurs against their horses' flanks. Amoment later they, too, were lookingdown at something, and they were notsaying a word.

"It's Dan, all right," said Andy at last, andhis tone was hushed. "I hunted the couleeover—every foot of it—and looked upsome of the little draws, and went alongthe river; but I couldn't find any trace ofhim. I never thought about coming up here.

"Look there. His head was smashed inwith a rock or something—ugh! Here, letme away, boys.

This thing—" He walked uncertainly away

and sat down upon a rock with his face inhis hands, and what they could see of hisface was as white as the tan would permit.Somehow, not a man of them doubted himthen. And not a man of them but felt muchthe same. They backed away and stoodclose to where Andy was sitting.

"You wouldn't believe me when I toldyuh," he reproached, when the sicknesshad passed and he could lift his head andlook at them. "You thought I was lying,and yuh made yourselves pretty blamedobnoxious to me—but I got even for that."There was much satisfaction in his tone,and the Happy Family squirmed. "Yuhsee, I was telling the truth, all right—andnow I'm going to get even some more. I'mgoing to take—er—Pink along for a

witness, and notify the outfit that yuh won'tbe back for a day or two, and send wordto the sheriff. And you jaspers can havethe pleasure uh standing guard over—that." He shivered a little and turnedhis glance quickly away. "And I hope," headded maliciously, as he mounted his ownhorse, "you'll make Jack Bates stand anall-night guard by his high lonesome. He'ssure got it coming to him!"

With Pink following close at his heels herode away up the ridge.

"Say, there's grub enough on old Buck todo yuh to-night," he called down to them,"in case Chip don't send yuh any till to-morrow." He waved a subdued farewelland turned his face again up the ridge, andbefore they had quite decided what to do

about it, he was gone.

"WOLF! WOLF!"Andy Green, of the Flying U, loped overthe grassy level and hummed a tune as herode. The sun shone just warm enough tomake a man feel that the world was goodenough for him, and the wind was just alazy, whispering element to keep the airfrom growing absolutely still and stagnant.There was blue sky with white, fluffy bitsof cloud like torn cotton drifting as lazilyas the wind, and there were meadow-larkssinging and swaying, and slow-movingrange cattle with their calves midway toweaning time. Not often may one rideleisurely afar on so perfect a day, andwhile Andy was a sunny-natured fellow at

all times, on such a day he owned not acare.

A mile farther, and he rode over a lowshoulder of the butte he was passing,ambled down the long slope on the farside, crossed another rounded hill,followed down a dry creek-bed at the footof it, sought with his eye for a practicablecrossing and went headlong down a steep,twenty-foot bank; rattled the loose rocksin the dry, narrow channel and wentforging up a bank steeper than the first,with creaking saddle-leather and gruntinghorse, and struck again easy going.

"She slipped on me," he murmured easily,meaning the saddle. "I'm riding on yourtail, just about; but I guess we can stand itthe rest uh the why, all right." If he had not

been so lazy and self-satisfied he wouldhave stopped right there and reset thesaddle. But if he had, he might havemissed something which he liked to liveover o' nights.

He went up a gentle rise, riding slowlybecause of the saddle, passed over theridge and went down another short slope.At the foot of the slope, cuddled againstanother hill, stood a low, sod-roofedcabin with rusty stove-pipe rising aslantfrom one corner. This was the spot he hadbeen aiming for, and he neared it slowly.

It was like a dozen other log cabins tuckedaway here and there among the foothills ofthe Bear Paws. It had an air of rakishhominess, as if it would be a fine, snuggyplace in winter, when the snow and the

wind swept the barren land around. In thesummer, it stood open-doored and open-windowed, with all the litter of bachelorbelongings scattered about or hangingfrom pegs on the wall outside. There wasa faint trail of smoke from the rusty pipe,and it brought a grunt of satisfaction fromAndy.

"He's home, all right. And if he don'tthrow together some uh them sour-doughbiscuits uh his, there'll be somethinghappen! Hope the bean-pot's full. G'wan,yuh lazy old skate." He slapped the rein-ends lightly down the flanks of his horseand went at a trot around the end of thecabin. And there he was so utterly takenby surprise that he almost pulled his mountinto a sitting posture.

A young woman was stooping before theopen door, and she was pouring somethingfrom a white earthen bowl into a batteredtin pan. Two waggle-tailed lambs—ablack one and a white—were standing ontheir knees in their absorption, and werenoisily drinking of the stuff as fast as itcame within reach.

Andy had half a minute in which to gazebefore the young woman looked up, said"Oh!" in a breathless sort of way andretreated to the doorstep, where she stoodregarding him inquiringly.

Andy, feeling his face go unreasonablyred, lifted his hat. He knew that she waswaiting for him to speak, but he could notwell say any of the things he thought, andblurted out an utterly idiotic question.

"What are yuh feeding 'em?"

The girl looked down at the bowl in herhands and laughed a little.

"Rolled oats," she answered, "boiled verythin and with condensed cream added totaste. Good morning." She seemed aboutto disappear, and that brought Andy to hissenses. He was not, as a rule, a bashfulyoung man.

"Good morning. Is—er—Mr. Johnson athome?" He came near saying "Take-Notice," but caught himself in time. Take-Notice Johnson was what men called theman whom Andy had ridden over to seeupon a more or less trivial matter.

"He isn't, but he will be back—if you care

to wait." She spoke with a certainpreciseness which might be natural orartificial, and she stood in the doorwaywith no symptoms of immediatedisappearance.

Andy slid over a bit in the saddle,readjusted his hat so that its brim wouldshield his eyes from the sunlight, andprepared to be friendly. "Oh, I'll wait," hesaid easily. "I've got all the time there is.Would you mind if I smoked a cigarette?"

"Indeed, I was wishing you would," shetold him, with surprising frankness. "I'veso longed to see a dashing young cowboyroll a cigarette with deft, white fingers."

Andy, glancing at her startled, spilledmuch tobacco down the front of him,

stopped to brush it away and let the lazybreeze snatch the tiny oblong of paperfrom between his unwatchful fingers. Ofcourse, she was joshing him, he thoughtuneasily, as he separated the leaves of hiscigarette book by blowing gently uponthem, and singled out another paper. "Areyuh so new to the country that it's anythingof a treat?" he asked guardedly.

"Yes, I'm new. I'm what you people call apilgrim. Don't you do it with one hand? Ithought—oh, yes! You hold the reinsbetween your firm, white teeth while youroll—"

"Lady, I never travelled with no show,"Andy protested mildly and untruthfully.Was she just joshing? Or didn't she knowany better? She looked sober as anything,

but somehow her eyes kind of—

"You see, I know some things about you.Those are chaps" (Heavens! She calledthem the way they are spelled, without thesoft sound of s!) "That you're wearing for—trousers" (Andy blushed modestly. Hewas not wearing them "for trousers".),"and you've got jingling rowels at yourheels, and those are taps—"

"You're going to be shy a yard or two ofcalico if that black lamb-critter has hissay-so," Andy cut in remorselessly, andhastily made and lighted his cigarettewhile she was rescuing her blue calicoskirt from the jaws of the black lamb andpuckering her eyebrows over the chewedplace. When her attention was once moregiven to him, he was smoking as

unobtrusively as possible, and he wasgazing at her with a good deal ofspeculative admiration. He looked hastilydown at the lambs. "Mary had two littlelambs," he murmured inanely.

"They're not mine," she informed him,taking him seriously—or seeming to doso. Andy had some trouble deciding justhow much of her was sincere. "They werehere when I came, and I can't take themback with me, so there's no use inclaiming them. They'd be such a nuisanceon the train—"

"I reckon they would," Andy agreed, "ifyuh had far to go."

"Well, you can't call San Jose close," sheobserved, meditatively. "It takes four days

to come."

"You're a long way from home. Does it—are yuh homesick, ever?" Andy wasplaying for information without askingdirectly how long she intended to stay—aquestion which had suddenly seemed quiteimportant. Also, why was she stoppinghere with Take-Notice Johnson, away offfrom everybody?

"Seeing I've only been here four days, thenovelty hasn't worn off yet," she replied."But it does seem more like four weeks;and how I'll ever stand two months of it,not ever seeing a soul but father—"

Andy looked reproachful, and also glad.Didn't she consider him a soul? And Take-Notice was her dad! To be sure, Take-

Notice had never mentioned having adaughter, but then, in the range-land, mendon't go around yawping their personalaffairs.

Before Take-Notice returned, Andy feltthat he had accomplished much. He hadlearned that the young woman's namereally was Mary, and that she was astenographer in a real-estate office in SanJose, where her mother lived; that theconfinement of office-work had threatenedher with pulmonary tuberculosis (Andyfailed, at the moment, to recognize thedisease which had once threatened himalso, and wondered vaguely) and that thedoctor had advised her coming to Montanafor a couple of months; that she hadwritten to her father (it seemed queer to

have anyone speak of old Take-Notice as"father") and that he had told her to "comea-running."

She told Andy that she had not seen herfather for five years (Andy knew thatTake-Notice had disappeared for a wholewinter, about that long ago, and that noone had discovered where he went)because he and her mother were "notcongenial."

He had dismounted, at her invitation, andhad gone clanking to the doorstep and satdown—giving a furtive kick now and thenat the black lamb, which developed afondness for the leathern fringe on hischaps—and had eaten an orange whichshe had brought in her trunk all the wayfrom San Jose, and which she had picked

from a tree which stood by her mother'sfront gate. He had nibbled a ripe olive—eating it with what Andy himself wouldterm "long teeth"—and had tried hard notto show how vile he found it. He hadinspected two star-fishes which she hadfound last Fourth-of-July at Monterey andhad dried; and had crumpled a witheredleaf of bay in his hands and had smelledand nearly sneezed his head off; and hadcracked and eaten four walnuts—alsogathered from her mother's yard—andthree almonds from the same source, andhad stared admiringly at a note-book filledwith funny marks which she calledshorthand.

Between-whiles Andy had told her hisname and the name of the outfit he worked

for; had explained what he meant by"outfit," and had drawn a large U in thedirt to show her what a Flying U was, andhad wanted to murder the black lambwhich kept getting in his way and trying toeat the stick Andy used for a pencil; hadconfessed that he did sometimes playcards for money, as do the cowboys inWestern stories, but assured her that hehad never killed off any of his friendsduring any little disagreement. He hadowned to drinking a glass of whisky nowand then, but declared that it was only forsnake bite and did not happen oftener thanonce in six months or so. Yes, he had oftenhad rattlers in his bed, but not to hurt. Thisis where he began to inspect the star-fishes, and so turned the conversationsafely back to California and himself

away from the temptation to revel infiction.

All of which took time, so that Take-Notice came before they quite felt alonging for his presence; and though thesun shone straight in the cabin door and soproved that it was full noon, there was nofire left in the stove and nothing in sightthat was eatable save another ripe olive—which Andy had politely declined—andtwo more almonds and an orange.

A stenographer, with a fluffy pompadourthat dipped distractingly at one side, and agold watch suspended around the necklike a locket, and with sleeves that cameno farther than the elbow and heels higherthan any riding boot Andy ever owned inhis life, and with teeth that were very

white and showed a glint of gold here andthere, and eyes that looked at one withinsincere gravity, and fingers with nailsthat shone—fingers that pinched red lipstogether meditatively—a stenographerwho has all these entrancing attributes,Andy discovered, may yet lack thosehousewifely accomplishments that make aman dream of a little home for two. So faras Andy could see, her knowledge ofcookery extended no farther than rolledoat porridge for the two lambs.

Take-Notice it was who whittled shavingsand started the fire without any commentupon the hour or his appetite; who went tothe spring and brought water, half-filledthe enameled teakettle which had large,bare patches where the enamel had been

chipped off in the stress of baching, andsliced the bacon and mixed the "sour-dough" biscuits. To be sure, he had donethose things for years and thought nothingof it; Andy, also, had done those things,many's the time, and had thought nothing ofit, either. But to do them while a youngwoman sits calmly by and makes no offerof help, but talks of many things,unconscious even of her world-old,feminine duties and privileges, that struckAndy with a cold breath ofdisillusionment.

He watched her unobtrusively while shetalked. She never once seemed to feel thatcooking belonged to woman, and as far ashe could see Take-Notice did not feel soeither. So Andy mentally adjusted himself

to the novelty and joyed in her presence.

To show how successful was his mentaladjustment, it is necessary merely to stateone fact: Where he had intended to stop anhour or so, he stayed the afternoon; atesupper there and rode home at sundown,his mind a jumble of sunny Californiandays where one may gather star-fishes andoranges, bay leaves and ripe olives atwill, and of black and white lambs whichalways obtrude themselves at the wrongmoment and break off little, intimateconfidences about life in a real-estateoffice, perhaps; and of polished finger-nails that never dip themselves indishwater—Andy had come to believethat it would be neither right or just toexpect them to do so common a thing.

The season was what the range calls"between roundups," so that Andy wentstraight to the ranch and found the HappyFamily in or around the bunk-house,peacefully enjoying their before-bedtimesmoke. Andy, among other positive faultsand virtues, did not lack a certain degreeof guile. Men there were at the Flying Uwho would ride in haste if they guessedthat a pompadoured young woman fromCalifornia was at the end of the trail, andAndy, knowing well the reputation he boreamong them, set that reputation at work tokeep the trail empty of all riders savehimself. When someone asked him idlywhat had kept him so long, he gazedaround at them with his big, innocent grayeyes.

"Why, I was just getting acquainted withthe new girl," he answered simply andtruthfully.

Truth being something which the HappyFamily was unaccustomed to from the lipsof Andy Green, they sniffed scornfully.

"What girl?" demanded Irish bluntly.

"Why, Take-Notice's girl. His young ladydaughter that is visiting him. She's mightynice, and she's got style about her, and shewas feeding two lambs. Her name," headded softly, "is Mary."

Since no one had ever heard that Take-Notice had a daughter, the Happy Familycould not be blamed for doubting Andy.They did doubt, profanely and volubly.

"Say, did any of you fellows ever eat aripe olive?" Andy broke in, when he couldmake himself heard. "Well," he explainedmildly, when came another rift of silencein the storm-cloud of words, "When yuhride over there, she'll likely give yuh oneto try; but yuh take my advice and pass itup. I went up against one, and I ain't gotthe taste out uh my mouth yet. It's surefierce."

More words, from which Andy gatheredthat they did not believe anything he said;that he was wasting time and breath, andthat his imagination was weak and his liesidiotic. He'd better not let Take-Noticehear how he was taking his name in vainand giving him a daughter—and so on.

"Say, did yuh ever see a star-fish?

Funniest thing yuh ever saw, all pimply,and pink, and with five points to 'em.She's got two. When yuh go over, you askher to let yuh see 'em." Andy was in bed,then, and he spoke through the dusktoward the voices. What those voices hadjust then been saying seemed to haveabsolutely no effect upon him.

"Oh, dry up!" Irish commandedimpatiently. "Nobody's thinking uh ridingover there, yuh chump. What kind of easymarks do yuh think we are?"

Andy laughed audibly in his corner nextthe window. "Say, you fellows do amuseme a lot. By gracious, I'll bet five dollarssome of yuh take the trail over there, soonor late. I—I'll bet five dollars to one thatyuh do! The bet to hold good for —well,

say six weeks. But yuh better not take meup, boys—especially Irish, that ain't got agirl at present. Yes, or any of yuh, bygracious! It'll be a case for breach-uh-promise for any one uh yuh. Say, she's abird! Got goldy hair, and a dimple in herchin and eyes that'd make a man—"

With much reviling they accepted thewager, and after that Andy wentpeacefully to sleep, quite satisfied for thetime with the effect produced by hisabsolute truthfulness; it did not mattermuch, he told himself complacently, whata man's reputation might be, so long as herecognized its possibilities and shaped hisactions properly.

It is true that when he returned from DryLake, not many days after, with a package

containing four new ties and a large,lustrous silk handkerchief of the proper,creamy tint, the Happy Family seemed towaver a bit. When he took to shavingevery other day, and became extremelyfastidious about his finger-nails and hisboots and the knot in his tie, and when hepolished the rowels of his spurs withPatsy's scouring brick (which Patsy neverused) and was careful to dent his hat-crown into four mathematically correctdimples before ever he would ride awayfrom the ranch, the Happy Family lookedthoughtful and discussed him privately inlow tones.

But when Andy smilingly assured themthat he was going over to call on Take-Notice's girl, and asked them if they

wouldn't like to come along and beintroduced, and taste a ripe olive, andlook at the star-fishes, and smell acrumpled leaf of bay, they backedfiguratively from the wiles of him andasserted more or less emphatically hecouldn't work them. Then Andy wouldgrin and ride gaily away, and Flying UCoulee would see him no more for severalhours. It was mere good fortune—fromAndy's viewpoint—that duty did notimmediately call the Happy Family, singlyor as a whole, to ride across the hillstoward the cabin of Take-Notice Johnson.Without a legitimate excuse, he felt sure oftheir absence from the place, and he alsocounted optimistically upon their refusingto ask any one whom they might meet, ifTake-Notice Johnson had a daughter

visiting him.

Four weeks do not take much space in acalendar, nor much time to live; yet in thefour that came just after Andy's discovery,he accomplished much, even in his ownmodest reckoning. He had taught the girl towatch for his coming and to standpensively in the door with many good-byemessages when he said he must hit thetrail. He had formed definite plans for thefuture and had promised her quiteseriously that he would cut out gambling,and never touch liquor in any form—unless the snake was a very big one andsunk his fangs in a vital spot, in whichdire contingency Mary absolved him fromhis vow. He had learned the funny marksthat meant his name and hers in shorthand

and had watched with inner satisfactionher efforts to learn how to fry canned cornin bacon grease, and to mix sour-doughbiscuits that were neither yellow with toomuch soda nor distressfully "soggy" withtoo little, and had sat a whole, blissfulafternoon in his shirtsleeves, while Marybent her blond pompadour domesticallyover his coat, sewing in the sleeve-liningsthat are prone to come loose and torment aman. To go back to the first statement,which includes all these things and muchmore, Andy had, in those four weeks,accomplished much.

But a girl may not live forever in thatlonely land with only Andy Green todiscover her presence, and the rumorswhich at first buzzed unheeded in the ears

of the Happy Family, stung them at last tothe point of investigation; so that on aSunday—the last Sunday before the FlyingU wagons took again to the trailless range-land, Irish and Jack Bates rodesurreptitiously up the coulee half an hourafter Andy, blithe in his fancied security,had galloped that way to spend a longhalf-day with Mary. If he discovered themthey would lose a dollar each—but if theydiscovered a girl such as Andy hadpictured, they felt that it would be a dollarwell lost.

In the range-land many strange things mayhappen. Irish and Jack pulled up shortwhen, off to their right, in a particularly,lonely part of that country, broken intoseamed coulees and deep-scarred hills,

they heard a faint halloo. With spurspricking deep and frequent they hurried tothe spot; looked down a grassy swale andsaw Andy lying full length upon theground in rather a peculiar pose, while hishorse fed calmly a rein-length away.

They stopped and looked at him, and ateach other; rode cautiously to within easyrifle shot and stopped again.

"Ain't yuh getting tired feelings kindaunseasonable in the day?" Jack Batescalled out guardedly.

"I—I'm hurt, boys," Andy lifted his headto say, strainedly. "My hoss stepped in ahole, and I wasn't looking for it. I guess—my leg's broke."

Jack snorted. "That so? Sure it ain't yourneck, now? Seems to me your head setskinda crooked. Better feel it and find out,while we go on where we're going." Hehalf turned his horse up the hill again,resenting the impulse which had betrayedhim a hand's breadth from the trail.

Andy waited a moment. Then: "On thedead, boys, my leg's broke—like you'dbust a dry stick. Come and see—foryourselves."

"Maybe—" Irish began, uncertainly, in anundertone. Andy's voice had in it a note ofpain that was rather convincing.

"Aw, he's just trying to head us off. Didn'tI help pack him up that ungodly bluff, lastspring, thinking he was going to die before

we got him to the top—and him riding offand giving us the horse-laugh to pay for it?You can bite, if yuh want to; I'm going on.I sure savvy Andy Green."

"Come and look," Andy begged frombelow. "If I'm joshing—"

"You can josh and be darned," finishedJack for him. "I don't pack you up hillmore than once, old-timer. We're going tocall on your Mary-girl. When yuh get goodand refreshed up, you can come and lookon at me and Irish acting pretty and gettinga stand-in. So-long!"

Irish, looking back over his shoulder, sawAndy raise his head and gaze after them;saw it drop upon his arms just before theywent quite over the hill. The sight stuck

persistently and unpleasantly in hismemory.

"Yuh know, he might be hurt," he begantentatively when they had ridden slowly ahundred yards or so.

"He might. But he ain't. He's up to somegame again, and he wouldn't like anythingbetter than to have us ride down there andfeel his bones. If you'd been along, thatday in the Bad-lands, you'd know the kindof bluff he can put up. Why, we all thoughtsure he was going to die. He acted thatnatural we felt like we was packing acorpse at a funeral—and him tickled todeath all the while at the load he wasthrowing! No sir, yuh don't see meswallowing no such dope as that, anymore. When he gets tired uh laying there,

he'll recover rapid and come on. Don't yuhworry none about Andy Green; why, man,do yuh reckon any horse-critter couldb r e a k his leg—a rider like him? Heknows more ways uh falling off a horsewithout losing the ashes off his cigarettethan most men know how to—how topunish grub! Andy Green couldn't get hurtwith a horse! If he could, he'd uh beendead and playing his little harp long ago."

Such an argument was more convincingthan the note of pain in the voice of Andy,so that Irish shook off his uneasiness andlaughed at the narrow escape he'd hadfrom being made a fool. And speedily theyforgot the incident.

It was Take-Notice who made themremember, when they had been an hour or

so basking themselves, so to speak, in thesmiles of Mary. They had fancied allalong that she had a curiously expectantair, and that she went very often to thedoor to see what the lambs were up to—and always lifted her eyes to the prairieslope down which they had ridden andgazed as long as she dared. They were notdull; they understood quite well what"lamb" it was that held half the mind ofher, and they were piqued because of theirunderstanding, and not disposed to furtherthe cause of the absent. Therefore, whenTake-Notice asked casually what hadbecome of Andy, Jack Bates moved hisfeet impatiently, shot a sidelong glance atthe girl (who was at that moment standingwhere she could look out of the window)and laughed unpleasantly.

"Oh, Andy's been took again with anattack uh bluff," he answered lightly. "Hegets that way, ever so often, you know.We left him laying in a sunny spot, a fewmiles back, trying to make somebody thinkhe was hurt, so they'd pack him home andhe'd have the laugh on them for allsummer."

"Wasn't he hurt?" The girl turned suddenlyand her voice told how much it meant toher. But Jack was not sympathetic.

"No, he wasn't hurt. He was just playingoff. He got us once, that way, and he'snever given up the notion that he could doit again. We may be easy, but—"

"I don't understand," the girl broke insharply. "Do you mean that he would

deliberately try to deceive you intobelieving he was hurt, when he wasn't?"

"Miss Johnson," Jack replied sorrowfully,"he would. He would lose valuable sleepfor a month, studying up the smoothestway to deceive. I guess," he addedartfully, and as if the subject was nearlyexhausted, "yuh don't know Mr. Greenvery well."

"I remember hearing about that job he putup on yuh," Take-Notice remarked, notnoticing that the girl's lips were openedfor speech, "Yuh made a stretcher, didn'tyuh, and—"

"No—he told it that way, but he's such aliar he couldn't tell the truth if he wantedto. We found him lying at the bottom of a

steep bluff, and he appeared to be aboutdead. It looked as if he'd slipped andfallen down part way. So we packedwater and sloshed in his face, and hekinda come to, and then we packed him upthe bluff—and yuh know what the Bad-lands is like, Take-Notice. It wasunmerciful hot, too, and we like to diedgetting him up. At the top we laid himdown and worked over him till we gothim to open his eyes, and he could talk alittle and said maybe he could ride if wecould get him on a horse. The—he madeu s lift him into the saddle—andconsidering the size of him, it wassomething of a contract—and then hemade as if he couldn't stay on, even. Butfirst we knew he digs in the spurs, yanksoff his hat and lets a yell out of him you

could hear a mile, and says: 'Muchobliged, boys, it was too blamed hot towalk up that hill,' and off he goes."

Take-Notice stretched his legs out beforehim, pushed his hands deep down in histrousers' pockets, and laughed andlaughed. "That was sure one on you," hechuckled. "Andy's a hard case, all right."

But the girl stood before him, a little paleand with her chin high. "Father, how canyou think it's funny?" she criedimpatiently. "It seems to me—er—I thinkit's perfectly horrid for a man to act likethat. And you say, Mr. Bates, that he's outthere now"—she swept a very pretty handand arm toward the window—"acting thesame silly sort of falsehood?"

"I don't know where he is now," Jackanswered judicially. "That's what he wasdoing when we came past."

She went to the door and stood lookingvaguely out at nothing in particular, andIrish took the opportunity to kick Jack onthe ankle-bone and viciously whisper,"Yuh damned chump!" But Jack smiledserenely. Irish, he reflected, had not beenwith them that day in the Bad-lands, andso had not the same cause for vengeance.He remembered that Irish had laughed,just as Take-Notice was laughing, whenthey told him about it; but Jack had neverbeen able to see the joke, and hisconscience did not trouble him now.

More they said about Andy Green—heand Take-Notice, with Irish mostly silent

and with the girl extremely indignant attimes and at others slightly incredulous,but always eager to hear more. More theysaid, not with malice, perhaps, for theyliked Andy Green, but with the spirit ofreminiscence strong upon them. Manythings that he had said and done theyrecalled and laughed over—but the girldid not laugh. At sundown, when they rodeaway, she scribbled a hasty note, put it inan envelope and entrusted it to Irish forimmediate delivery to the absent anderring one. Then they rode home,promising each other that they would suredevil Andy to death when they saw him,and wishing that they had ridden long agoto the cabin of Take-Notice. It was notpleasant to know that Andy Green hadagain fooled them completely.

None at the ranch had seen Andy, and theyspeculated much upon the nature of thegame he was playing. Happy Jack wantedto bet that Andy really had broken his leg—but that was because he had a presentgrievance against Irish and hated to agreewith anything he said. But when they wentto bed, the Happy Family had settledunanimously upon the theory that Andy hadridden to Dry Lake, and would comeloping serenely down the trail next day.

Irish did not know what time it was whenhe found himself sitting up in bedlistening, but he discovered Pink gettingquietly into his clothes. Irish hesitated amoment, and then felt under his pillow forhis own garments—long habit had madehim put them there—and began to dress. "I

guess I'll go along with yuh," hewhispered.

"Yuh can if yuh want to," Pink answeredungraciously. "But yuh needn't raise thelong howl if—"

"Hold on, boys; my ante's on the table,"came guardedly from Weary's bunk, andthere was a soft, shuffling sound as ofmoving blankets; the subdued scrape ofboots pulled from under bunks, and thequiet searching for hats and gloves. Therewas a clank of spur-chains, the faintsqueal of a hinge gone rusty, a creak of aloose board, and then the three stoodtogether outside under the star-sprinkleand avoided looking at one another.Without a word they went down the deep-worn path to the big gate, swung it open

and headed for the corral where slept theirhorses.

"If them bone-heads don't wake up,nobody'll be any the wiser—and it's alovely night for a ramble," murmuredWeary, consoling himself.

"Well, I couldn't sleep," Irish confessed,half defiantly. "I expect it's just a big josh,but—it won't do any hurt to make sure."

"Yuh all think Andy Green lives to telllies," snapped Pink, throwing the saddleon his horse with a grunt at the weight ofit. The horse flinched away from itsimpact, and Pink swore at it viciously."Yuh might uh gone down and made sure,anyhow," he criticised.

"Well, I was going to; but Jack said—"Irish stooped to pick up the latigo and didnot finish. "But I can't get over the way hishead dropped down on his arms, when wewere riding out uh sight. As if—oh, hell!If it was a josh, I'll just about beat thehead off him for spoiling my sleep thisway. Get your foot off that rein, yuhdamned, clumsy bench!" This last to hishorse.

They rode slowly away from the ranchand made the greater haste when the soundof their galloping could not reach thedulled ears of those who slept. They didnot talk much, and when they did it was totell one another what great fools they were—but even in the telling they urged theirhorses to greater speed.

"Well," Pink summed up at last, "if he'shurt, out here, we're doing the right thing;and if he ain't, he won't be there to havethe laugh on us; so it's all right eitherway."

There was black shadow in the grassyswale where they found him. His horsehad wandered off and it was only the sureinstinct of Irish that led them to the spotwhere he lay, a blacker shadow in thedarkness that a passing cloud had made.Just at first they thought him dead, butwhen they lifted him he groaned and thenspoke.

"It's one on me, this time," he said, and thethroat of Irish pinched achingly together atthe sound of his voice, which had in it thenote of pain he had been trying to forget.

After that he said nothing at all, becausehe was a senseless weight in their arms.

At daylight Irish was pounding vehementlythe door of the White House and callingfor the Little Doctor. Andy lay stretchedunconscious upon the porch beside him,and down in the bunk-house the HappyFamily was rubbing eyes and exclaimingprofanely at the story Pink was telling.

"And here," finished Irish a couple ofhours later, when he was talking the thingover with the Little Doctor, "here's a noteTake-Notice's girl gave me for him. I don'treckon there's any good news in it, somaybe yuh better hold it out on him tillhe's got over the fever. I guess we queeredAndy a lot—but I'll ride over, soon as Ican, and fix it up with her and tell her he

broke his leg, all right. Maybe," hefinished optimistically, "she'll come overto see him."

Irish kept his word, though he delayeduntil the next day; and the next day it wastoo late. For the cabin of Take-Notice wasclosed and empty, and the black lamb andthe white were nosing unhappily theirover-turned pan of mush, and bleatinglonesomely. Irish waited a while andstarted home again; rode into the trail andmet Bert Rogers, who explained:

"Take-Notice was hauling his girl, trunkand all, to the depot," he told Irish. "I met'em just this side the lane. They aimed tocatch the afternoon train, I reckon. Shewas going home, Take-Notice told me."

So Irish rode thoughtfully back to theranch and went straight to the WhiteHouse where Andy lay, meaning to breakthe news as carefully as he knew how.

Andy was lying in bed looking big-eyed atthe ceiling, and in his hand was the note.He turned his head and glancedindifferently at Irish.

"Yuh sure made a good job of it, didn'tyuh?" he began calmly, though it was notthe calm which meant peace. "I was justabout engaged to that girl. If it'll do yuhany good to know how nice and thoroughyuh busted everything up for me, readthat." He held out the paper, and Irishturned a guilty red when he took it.

"Mr. Green: I have

just been greatlyentertained with thehistory of your verypeculiar deeds andadventures, and Iwish to say that I havediscovered myselfwholly lacking thesense of humor whichis necessary toappreciate you.

"As I am going hometo-morrow, this is myonly opportunity ofletting you know howthoroughly I detestfalsehood in anyform. Yours truly,

"MARY EDITHJOHNSON."

"Ain't yuh proud?" Andy inquired in apeculiar, tired voice. "Maybe I'm ahorrible liar, all right—but I never doneanybody a dirty trick like that."

Irish might have said it was Jack Bateswho did the mischief, but he did not. "Wenever knew it was anything serious," heexplained contritely. "On the dead, I'msorry—"

"And that does a damned lot uh good—ifshe's gone!" Andy cut in, miserably.

"Oh, she's gone, all right. She went to-day," murmured Irish, and went out andshut the door softly behind him.

FOOL'S GOLD.Andy Green, unshaven as to face andhaggard as to eyes, leaned upon his stout,willow stick and looked gloomily away tothe west. He was a good deal given tolooking to the west, these days when a legnew-healed kept him at the ranch, thoughhabit and inclination would have sent himriding fast and far over prairies untamed.Inaction comes hard when a man has livedhis life mostly in the open, doing thosethings which keep brain and muscle keyedalike to alertness and leave no time forbrooding.

If Andy had not broken his leg but had

gone with the others on roundup, he wouldnever have spent the days gloomingunavailingly because a girl with a blondpompadour and teasing eyes had goneaway and taken with her a falseimpression of his morals, and left behindher the sting of a harsh judgment againstwhich there seemed no appeal. As it was,he spent the time going carefully over hispast in self-justification, and inremembering every moment that he hadspent with Mary Johnson in those fourweeks when she stayed with her father andpetted the black lamb and the white.

In his prejudiced view, he had never doneanything to make a girl hate him. He hadnot always told the truth—he would admitthat with candid, gray eyes looking

straight into your own—but he had neverlied to harm a man, which, it seemed tohim, makes all the difference in the world.

If he could once have told her how he feltabout it, and showed her how the wideWest breeds wider morals—he did notquite know how you would put thesethings, but he felt them very keenly. Hewanted to make her feel the difference; tosee that little things do not count in a man'slife, after all, except when they affect himas a man when big things are wanted ofhim. A little cowardice would count, forinstance, because it would show that theman would fail at the test; but a little lie?just a harmless sort of lie that was only a"josh" and was taken as such by one'sfellows? Andy was not analytic by nature,

and he would have stumbled vaguelyamong words to explain his views, but hefelt very strongly the injustice of the girl'scondemnation, and he would scarcelyspeak to Jack Bates and Irish when theycame around making overtures for peaceand goodwill.

"If she hadn't gone home so sudden, Icould uh squared it all right," he told theLittle Doctor, whenever her sympatheticattitude won him to speech upon thesubject.

"Yes, I believe you could," she wouldagree cheeringly. "If she's the right sort,and cared, you could."

"She's the right sort—I know that," Andywould assert with much decision, though

modesty forbade his telling the LittleDoctor that he was also sure she cared.She did care, if a girl's actions count foranything, or her looks and smiles. Ofcourse she cared! Else why did she rushoff home like that, a good month beforeshe had intended to go? They had plannedthat Andy would get a "lay-off" and gowith her as far as Butte, because shewould have to wait there several hours,and Andy wanted to take her out to theColumbia Gardens and see if she didn'tthink they were almost as nice as anythingCalifornia could show. Then she had goneoff without any warning because JackBates and Irish had told her a lot of stuffabout him, Andy; if that didn't prove shecared, argued Andy to himself, what thedickens would you want for proof?

It was from thinking these things over andover while he lay in bed, that Andyformed the habit of looking often towardsthe west when his hurt permitted him tohobble around the house. And when a manlooks often enough in any direction, hisfeet will, unless hindered by fate itself,surely follow his gaze if you give themtime enough.

It was the excursion rates advertised in aGreat Falls paper that first put the ideaconsciously into the brain of Andy. Theyseemed very cheap, and the time-limit wasgenerous, and—San Jose was not very farfrom San Francisco, the place named inthe advertisement; and if he could only seethe girl and explain—It would be anothermonth before he would be able to work,

anyway, and—A man might as well get ridof a hundred or so travelling, as to sit in apoker game and watch it fade away, andhe would really get more out of it.Anyhow, nobody need know where he hadgone. They could think he was just goingto Butte. And he didn't give a darn if theydid find it out!

He limped back into the house and beganinspecting, with much dissatisfaction, hiswardrobe. He would have to stake himselfto new clothes—but he needed clothes,anyway, that fall. He could get what hewanted in Butte, while he waited for thetrain to Ogden. Now that Andy had madeup his mind to go, he was in a great hurryand grudged the days, even the hours, thatmust pass before he could see Mary Edith

Johnson.

Not even the Little Doctor knew the truth,when Andy appeared next morningdressed for his journey, ate a hasty andunsatisfactory breakfast and took the OldMan to one side with elaboratecarelessness and asked for a sum thatmade the Old Man blink. But no man mighthave charge of the Happy Family for longwithout attaining that state of mentalinsulation which renders a shockscientifically impossible. The Old Manwrote a check, twisted his mouth into awhimsical knot and inquired mildly:"What's the brand of devilment this time,and how long's it going to take yuh?" Witha perceptible emphasis on the word this.

For probably the first time in his life Andy

blushed and stammered over a lie, andbefore he had got out more than twowords, the Old Man seemed to understandthe situation quite thoroughly. He said"Oh, I see. Well, git a round-trip ticketand be dead sure yuh don't out-stay thelimit." He took out his pipe and filled itmeditatively.

Andy blushed again—six weeks indoorshad lightened the tan on his face so that hisblushes showed very plainly—and madedesperate denial. "I'm only going up toButte. But a fellow can't have any kind ofa time there without a fair-sized roll, and—I'll be back in two or three weeks—soon as my leg's mended thorough. I—"

"Get along with yuh!" growled the OldMan, though his eyes twinkled. "Doggone

it, don't yuh lie to me. Think I was shippedin on the last train? A man don't git red inthe face when he's just merely headed forButte. Why, doggone yuh—"

The last words had to serve for afarewell, because Andy was limping awayas fast as he could, and did not come backto the house again. He did not even tell theLittle Doctor good-by, though it wasfifteen minutes before John Wedum, theranchhand, had the team ready to driveAndy to town, and he was one of the LittleDoctor's most loyal subjects.

Andy walked haltingly down a palm-shaded street in San Jose and wonderedjust what would be the best and quickest

way in which to find Mary Edith Johnson.Three ways were open to him: He couldhunt up all the Johnsons in town—therewere three full pages of them in thedirectory, as he remembered with a sigh—and find out which one was the right one;but San Jose, as he had alreadydiscovered, was not a village, and hedoubted if he could stand the walking. Hecould visit all the real estate offices intown—and he was just beginning torealize that there were almost as manyreal estate offices as there were Johnsons.And he could promenade the streets in thehope of meeting her. But always there wasthe important fact to face—the fact thatSan Jose is not a village.

He came upon a particularly shady spot

and a bench placed invitingly. Andy satdown, eased the new-healed leg outbefore him and rolled a cigarette. "This isgoing to be some different from hunting astray on the range," he told himself, withan air of deliberate cheerfulness. "If Icould get out and scurrup around on ahoss, and round her up that way—but thisfooting it all over town is what grindsme." He drew a match along the underside of the bench and held the blazeabsently to the cigarette. "There was onething—she told about an orange tree rightbeside her mother's front gate, Maybe—"He looked around him hopefully. Justacross the street was a front gate, andbeside it an orange tree; he knew becausethere were ripe oranges hanging upon it.He started to rise, his blood jumping

queerly, sat down again and swore."Every darned gate in town, just about,has got an orange tree stuck somewherehandy by. I remember 'em now, damn'em!"

Three cigarettes he smoked while he satthere. When he started on again his facewas grimly set toward the nearestbusiness street. At the first real-estate signhe stopped, pulled together his courage,and went in. A girl sat in a corner of theroom before a typewriter. Andy saw at aglance that her hair was too dark;murmured something and backed out. Atthe next place, a man was crumpled into abig chair, reading a paper. Behind a highdesk a typewriter clicked, but Andy couldnot see the operator without going behind

the railing, and he hesitated.

"Looking for a snap?" asked the manbriskly, coming up from his crumpled statelike a spring.

"Well, I was looking—"

"Now, here. It may not be what you want,but I'm just going to show you thisproposition and see what you think of it. Itain't going to last—somebody's goin' tosnap it up before you know it. Now, here—"

It was half an hour before Andy got awayfrom that office, and he had not seen whowas running the machine behind the desk,even then. He had, however, spoken ratherloudly and had informed the man that he

was from Montana, with no effectwhatever upon the clicking. He hadlistened patiently to the glowingdescription of several "good buys," andhad escaped with difficulty within tenminutes after hearing the unseen typistaddressed as "Fern."

At the third place he merely looked in atthe door and retreated hastily when theagent, like a spider on the watch, startedforward.

When he limped into the office of his hotelat six o'clock, Andy was ready to swearthat every foot of land in California wasfor sale, and that every man in San Josewas trying his best to sell it and lookedupon him, Andy Green, as a weak-mindedmillionaire who might be induced to

purchase. He had not visited all the placeswhere they kept bulletin-boards coveredwith yellowed placards abounding inlarge type and many fat exclamation pointsand the word ONLY with a dollar markimmediately after. All? He had not visitedhalf of them, or a third!

That night he dreamed feverishly of "five-room, modern cottages with bath," and ofONLY $500.00 down and balancepayable monthly," and of ten-acre"ranches" and five-acre "ranches"—hewho had been used to numbering acres bythe thousand and to whom the word"ranch" meant miles of wire fencing andbeyond that miles of open!

It took all the longing he felt for MaryJohnson to drive him out the next morning

and to turn his face toward thoseplacarded places which infested everystreet, but he went. He went with eyes thatglared hostility at every man who said"buy," and with chin set to stubbornpurpose. He meant to find Mary EdithJohnson, and he meant to find her withoutall California knowing that he was lookingfor her. Not once had he mentioned hername, or showed that he cared whetherthere was a typewriter in the office orwhether it was a girl, man or Chinamanwho clicked the keys; and yet he knewexactly how every girl typist had her hairdressed, and what was the color of hereyes.

At two o'clock, Andy stopped suddenlyand stared down at a crack in the

pavement, and his lips moved in mutteredspeech. "She's worked three years in oneof them places—and she 'thoroughlydetests falsehood in any form'! Hell!" Isexactly what he was saying out loud, onone of the busiest streets in San Jose.

A policeman glanced at him, looked againand came slowly toward him. Andy tookthe hint and moved on decorously to thenext bulletin-board, but the revelation thathad come to him there in the street dulledsomewhat his alertness, so that he camenear committing himself to the purchase ofone of those ubiquitous "five-room,modern cottages with bath" before herealized what he was doing and fled to thestreet again, on the pretense that he had tocatch the car which was just slowing

down for that crossing.

He boarded the car, though he had no ideaof where it was going, and fished in hispocket for a nickel. And just when he wasreaching up from the step where he stoodclinging—reaching over the flower-piledhat of a girl, to place the nickel in theoutstretched palm of the conductor, heheard for the first time in many weeks thename of Mary Johnson. A girl at his elbowwas asking the other: "What'n the world'sbecome of Mary Johnson? She wasn't tothe dance last night, and it's the first one—"

Andy held his breath.

"Oh, Mame quit her place with Kelly andGray, two weeks ago. She's gone to Santa

Cruz and got a place for the summer. Herand Lola Parsons went together, and—"

Andy took advantage of another crossing,and dropped off. He wanted to find outwhen the next train left for Santa Cruz. Itnever occurred to him that there might betwo Mary Johnsons in the world, whichwas fortunate, perhaps; he wasted no timein hesitation, and so, within twentyminutes, he was hearing the wheels of afast train go clickety-click, clickety-clickover the switches in the suburbs of SanJose, and he was asking the conductorwhat time the train would reach SantaCruz, and was getting snubbed for hisanxiety.

Santa Cruz, when he did reach it, seemed,on a superficial examination, to be almost

as large as San Jose, and the real-estateoffices closer together and even moreplentifully supplied with modern cottagesand bath—and the heart of him sankprophetically. For the first time since hedropped off the street-car in San Jose, itseemed to him that Mary Johnson wasquite as far off, quite as unattainable asshe had ever been.

He walked slowly up Pacific Avenue andwatched the hurrying crowds, andwondered if chance would be kind to him;if he should meet her on the street,perhaps. He did not want to canvass allthe real-estate offices in town. "It wouldtake me till snow flies," he murmureddispiritedly, forgetting that here was aplace where snow never flew, and sought

a hotel where they were not "full to theeaves" as two complacent clerks hadalready told him.

At supper, he made friends with a genial-voiced insurance agent—the kind whodoes not insist upon insuring your lifewhether you want it insured or not. Theagent told Andy to call him Jack and usehim good and plenty—perhaps becausesomething wistful and lonely in the grayeyes of Andy appealed to him—and Andytook him at his word and was grateful. Hediscovered what day of the week it was:Saturday, and that on the next day SantaCruz would be "wide-open" because of anexcursion from Sacramento. Jack offeredto help him lose himself in the crowd, andagain Andy was grateful. For the first time

since leaving the Flying U he went to bedfeeling not utterly alone and friendless,and awoke pleasantly expectant. FriendJack was to pilot him down to the Casinoat eleven, and he had incidentally madeone prediction which stuck closely toAndy, even in his sleep. Jack had assuredhim that the whole town would be at thebeach; and if the whole town were at thebeach, why then, Mary would surely besomewhere in the crowd. And if she werein the crowd—"If she's there, I'll sure geta line on her before night," Andy toldhimself, with much assurance. "A fellowthat's been in the habit of cutting anycertain brand of critter out of a big herdought to be able to spot his girl in acrowd"—and he hummed softly while hedressed.

The excursion train was already in town,and the esplanade was, looking downfrom Beach Hill, a slow-moving river ofhats, with splotches of bright colors andwith an outer fringe of men and women."That's a good-sized trail-herd uhhumans," Andy remarked, and theinsurance agent laughed appreciatively.

"You wait till you see them milling aroundon the board walk," he advisedimpressively. "If you happen to be lookingfor anybody, you'll realize that there'ssome people scattered around in yourvicinity. I had a date with a girl, downhere one Sunday during the season, andwe hunted each other from ten in themorning till ten at night and never got sightof each other."

Andy gave him a sidelong, suspiciousglance, but friend Jack was evidently asinnocent as he looked, and so Andylimped silently down the hill to the Casinoand wondered if fate were going to cheathim at the last moment.

Once in the crowd, it was as Jack had toldhim it would be. He could not regard themoving mass of humanity as individuals,though long living where men are few hadfixed upon him the habit. Now, althoughhe observed far more than did Jack, he feltsomewhat at a loss; the realization thatMary Johnson might pass himunrecognized troubled him greatly. It didnot once occur to him that he, with hisgray Stetson hat and his brown face andkeen eyes and tall, straight-backed figure,

looked not at all like the thousands of menall around him, so that many eyes turned togive him another glance when he passed.Mary Johnson must be unobserving in theextreme if she failed to know him, onceshe glimpsed him in the crowd.

Somewhere near one o'clock he lost Jackcompletely, and drifted aimlessly alone.Jack had been hailed by a friend, hadstopped for a minute to talk, and severalhundred men, women and children hadcome between him and Andy, pushing andcrowding and surging, because a band hadstarted playing somewhere. Andy gotdown the steps and out upon the sand, andJack was thereafter but a memory. Hefound the loose sand hard walking withhis lame leg, and almost as crowded as

the promenade, and as he stood for aminute looking up at the board walk abovehim, it occurred to him that if he could getsomewhere and stay there long enough,every human being at the Casino wouldeventually pass by him. He went up thesteps again and worked his way along theedge of the walk until he found a vacantspot on the railing and sat grimly downupon it to wait.

Many cigarettes he smoked while heroosted there, watching until the eyes ofhim ached with the eternal panorama offaces that were strange. Many times hestarted eagerly because he glimpsed afluffy, blond pompadour with blue eyesbeneath, and fancied for an instant that itwas Mary.

Then, when he was speculating upon theadvisability of following the stream ofpeople that flowed out upon the pleasurepier, Mary passed by so close that herskirt brushed his toes; passed him by, andhe sat there like a paralytic and let her go.And in the heart of him was a queer, heavythrob that he did not in the leastunderstand.

She was dressed in blue linen with heavy,white lace in patches here and there, andshe had a big, white hat tilted back fromher face and a long white plume droopingto one shoulder. Another girl was withher, and a man—a man with dentedpanama hat and pink cheeks and a whitewaistcoat and tan shoes; a man whomAndy suddenly hated most unreasonably.

When they were all but lost in the crowd,Andy got down, gripped his canevindictively and followed. After all, theman was walking beside the other girl,and not beside Mary—and the reflectionbrought much solace. With the nodding,white feather to guide him, he followedthem down the walk, lost them for asecond, saw them turn in at the wide-opendoors of the natatorium, saw them pausethere, just inside. Then a huge womanpushed before him, stood there andnarrowed his range of vision down to herown generous hat with its huge roses, andwhen he had edged past her the three weregone.

Andy waited, comforted by the knowledgethat they had not come out, until the

minutes passed his patience and he wentin, searched the gallery unavailingly, cameout again and wandered on dispiritedly tothe pleasure pier. There, leaning over therail, he saw her again almost beneath himin the sand, scantily clad in a bathing suit.The man, still more scantily clad, wastrying to coax her into the water and shewas hanging back and laughing a gooddeal, with an occasional squeal.

Andy leaned rather heavily upon therailing and watched her gloweringly,incredulously. Custom has much to dowith a man's (or a woman's) idea ofpropriety, and one Andrew Green had forlong been unaccustomed to the sight ofnice young women disporting themselvesthus in so public a place. He could not

reconcile it with the girl as he had knownher in her father's cabin, and he was not atall sure that he wanted to do so.

He was just turning gloomily away whenshe glanced up, saw him and waved herhand. "Hello, Andy," she called gaily."Come on down and take a swim, whydon't you?"

Andy, looking reproachfully into herupturned face, shook his head. "I can't," hetold her. "I'm lame yet." It was not at allwhat he had meant to say, any more thanthis was the meeting he had dreamedabout. He resented both with inner rage.

"Oh. When did you come?" she askedcasually, and was whisked away by theman before Andy could tell her. The other

girl was there also, and the three rangleefully down to meet a roller larger thanthe others had been; met it, were washed,with much screaming and laughter, back toshore and stood there dripping. Andyglared down upon them and longed for theprivilege of drowning the fellow.

"We're going up into the plunge," calledMary. "Come on. I'll see you, when I comeout." They scampered away, and he,calling himself many kinds of fool,followed.

In the plunge, Andy was still more at adisadvantage, for since he was aspectator, a huge sign informed him that hemust go up stairs. He went up with muchdifficulty into the gallery, found himself aseat next the rail and searched long for

Mary among the bathers below. He wouldnever have believed that he would fail toknow her at sight, but with fifty women,more or less, dressed exactly alike andwith ugly rubber caps pulled down toeyebrows and ears, recognition mustnecessarily be slow.

While he leaned and stared, an avalancheof squeals came precipitately down thegreat slide; struck the water and wastransformed to gurgling screams, and thenheads came bobbing to the surface—threeheads, and one of them was Mary's. Sheswept the water from her eyes, looked upand saw him, waved her hand andscrambled rather ungracefully over therail in her wet, clinging suit. The othersfollowed, the man trotting at her heels and

calling something after her.

Andy, his brows pulled down overunhappy eyes, glared fixedly up at the topof the slide. In a minute they appeared,held gesticulating counsel, wavered andcame down together, upon their stomachs.The strange girl was in the lead, withMary next holding to the girl's feet. Behindher slid the man, gripping tightly theankles of Mary. Andy's teeth set savagelytogether, though he saw that others weredoing exactly the same; old women, youngwomen, girls, men and boys came hurtlingdown the big slide, singly, in couples, inthree and fours.

The spectacle began to fascinate him, sothat for a minute or two he could forgetMary and the man. There was a roar of

voices, the barking as of seals, screams,laughter and much splashing. Men andwomen dove from the sides like startledfrogs into a pond; they swam, floated andstood panting along the walls; swung fromthe trapeze (Andy, remembering his careerwith the circus, when he was "André deGréno," Champion Bareback Rider of theWestern Hemisphere, wished that his legwas well so that he could show them afew things about that trapeze business) andtroubled the waters with much splashing.He could not keep Mary always in view,but when he did get sight of her sheseemed to be having a very good time, andnot to be worrying in the least about himand his sins.

Twice Andy Green half rose from his seat,

meaning to leave the plunge, the Casinoand the whole merry-making crowd; buteach time he settled back, telling himselfthat he hated a quitter, and that he guessedhe'd buy a few more chips and stay in thegame.

It seemed a long time before Mary finallyemerged in the blue linen and the whitehat, but Andy was waiting doggedly at theentrance and took his place beside her,forcing the man to walk beside the girlwhom Mary introduced as Lola Parsons.The man's name was Roberts, but the girlscalled him Freddie, and he seemedcomposed mostly of a self-satisfied smileand the latest fad in male attire. Andy sethimself to the task of "cutting Mary out ofthe main herd" so that he might talk with

her. Thus it happened that, failing asecluded spot in the immediateneighborhood of the Casino, which buzzedlike a disturbed hive of gigantic bees,Mary presently found herself on a car thatwas clanging its signal of departure, andthere was no sign of Freddie and LolaParsons.

"We lost 'em, back there," Andy told hercalmly when she inquired. "And as towhere we're going, I don't know; as far asthis lightning-wagon will take us."

"This car goes clear out to the Cliffs,"Mary said discouragingly.

"All right. We're going out to the cliffs,then," Andy smiled blandly down upon thenodding, white feather in her hat.

"But I promised Lola and Freddie—"

"Oh, that's all right. I'll take the blame.Were yuh surprised to see me here?"

"Why should I be? Everybody comes toSanta Cruz, sooner or later."

"I came sooner," said Andy, trying to meether eye. He wanted to bring theconversation to themselves, so that hemight explain and justify himself, and winforgiveness for his sins.

While they walked along the cliffs hetried, and going home he had not given upthe attempt. But afterward, when he couldsit down quietly and think, he was forcedto admit that he had not succeeded verywell. It seemed to him that, while Mary

still liked him and was quite ready to befriends, she had forgotten just why she hadso suddenly left Montana. She was sorryhe had broken his leg, but in the samebreath, almost, she told him of such anarrow escape that Freddie had last week,when an auto nearly ran him down. Andyregretted keenly that it had not.

He had mentioned Irish and Jack Bates,meaning to refute the tales they had told ofhim, and she had asked about the blacklamb and the white, and then had told himthat he must go out to the whistling buoyand see the real whale they had anchoredout there, and related with much detailhow Freddie had taken her and Lola out,and how the water was so rough she gotseasick, and a wave splashed over and

ruined Freddie's new summer suit, thatspotted dreadfully; it wasn't, sheremarked, a durable color. She hopedAndy would stay a month or two, thoughthe "season" was about over. She knew hewould just love the plunge and the surf-bathing, and there was going to be aboomers' barbacue up at the Big Trees intwo weeks—and it would seem like hometo him, seeing a cow roasted whole! Shedid love Montana, and she hoped hebrought his chaps and spurs along, for shehad told Lola so much about him, and shewanted Lola to see him in his Wild Westclothes.

All this should have pleased Andy verymuch. She had not grown cold, and hereyes were quite as teasing and her smiles

as luring as before. She did not even laypersonal claim to Freddie, that he shouldbe jealous. When she spoke of Freddie,his name was linked with Lola Parsons,and Andy could not glean that she hadever gone anywhere alone with him. Shehad seemed anxious that he should enjoyhis vacation to the limit, and hadmentioned three or four places that hemust surely see, and informed him threetimes that she was "off" at five everyevening, and could show him around.

They had dined together at a café, and hadgone back to the Casino for the bandconcert, and they had not been interruptedby meeting Lola Parsons and Freddie, andshe had given him a very cordial good-night when they parted on the steps of her

boarding house at eleven.

So there was absolutely no reason for themood Andy was in when he accepted hiskey from the hotel clerk and went up to hisroom. For a man who has traveled morethan a thousand miles in search of the girlhe had dreamed of o'nights, and who hadfound her and had been properlywelcomed, he was distinctly gloomy. Hesat down by the open window and smokedfour cigarettes, said "Damn Freddy!" threetimes and with added emphasis each time,though he knew very well that Freddie hadnothing to do with it, and then went to bed.

In the morning he felt better, and went outby himself to the cliffs where they hadbeen before, and sat down on a hummockcovered with short grass, and watched the

great unrest of the ocean, and wonderedwhere the Flying U wagons would becamping, that night. Somehow, the widereach of water reminded him of theprairie; the rolling billows were likemany, many cattle milling restlessly in avast herd and tossing white heads andhorns upward. Below him, the poundingsurf was to him the bellowing of a thirstyherd corralled.

"This is sure all right," he approved,rousing a little. "It's almost as good assitting up on a pinnacle and looking outover the range. If I had a good hoss, andmy riding outfit, and could get out thereand go to work cutting-out them white-caps and hazing 'em up here on a run, itwouldn't be so poor. By gracious, this is

worth the trip, all right." It never occurredto Andy that there was anything strange inthe remark, or that he sat there because itdulled the heavy ache that had been hissince yesterday—the ache of finding whathe had sought, and finding with itdisillusionment.

Till hunger drove him away he stayed, andhis dreams were of the wide land he hadleft. When he again walked down PacificAvenue the hall clock struck four, andafter he had eaten he looked up at it andsaw that it lacked but fifteen minutes offive.

"I'm supposed to meet her when she quitswork," he remembered, "and Lola andFreddie will go to the plunge with us." Hestopped and stared in at the window of a

curio store. "Say, that's a dandy Navajoblanket," he murmured. "It would be out-uh-sight for a saddle blanket." He startedon, hesitated and went back. "I've got timeenough to get it," he explained to himself.He went in, bought the blanket and twoMexican serapes that caught his fancy,tucked the bundle under his arm andstarted down the street toward the officewhere Mary worked. It was just twominutes to five.

He got almost to the door—so near thathis toe struck against a corner of thebelabelled bulletin board—when a suddenrevulsion swept his desires back like ahuge wave. He stood a second irresolutelyand then turned back. "Aw—hell! What'sthe use?" he muttered.

The clock was just on the last stroke offive when he went up to the clerk in hishotel. "Say, when does the next train pullout?—I don't give a darn in whatdirection," he wanted to know. When theclerk told him seven-thirty, he grinned andbecame undignifiedly loquacious.

"I want to show yuh a couple of dandyserapes I just glommed, down street," hesaid, and rolled the bundle open upon thedesk. "Ain't they a couple uh beauts? I got'em for two uh my friends; they done me abig favor, a month or two ago, and Iwanted to kinda square the deal. That'swhy I got 'em just alike. Yes, you betthey're peaches; yuh can't get 'em like thisin Montana. The boys'll sure appreciate'em." He retied the bundle, took his room-

key from the hand of the smiling clerk andstarted up the stairway, humming a tuneunder his breath as he went.

At the first turn he stopped and lookedback. "Send the bell-hop up to wake me atseven," he called down to the clerk. "I'mgoing to take a much-needed nap—and it'llbe all your life's worth to let me miss thattrain!"

LORDS OF THEPOTS AND PANS

The camp of the Flying U, snuggled justwithin the wide-flung arms of an unnamedcoulee with a pebbly-bottomed creekrunning across its front, lookedpicturesque and peaceful—from adistance. Disenchantment lay in wait forhim who strayed close enough to hear thewrangling in the cook-tent, however, orwho followed Slim to where he slumpedbulkily down into the shade of a willowfifty yards or so from camp—a willowwhere Pink, Weary, Andy Green and Irishwere lying sprawled and smoking

comfortably.

Slim grunted and moved away from agrass-hidden rock that was gouging him inthe back. "By golly, things is getting prettyraw around this camp," he growled, byway of lifting the safety-valve of hisanger. "I'd like to know when that darnedgrub-spoiler bought into the outfit,anyhow. He's been trying to run it to suithimself all spring—and if he keeps on, bygolly, he'll be firing the wagon-boss andgiving all the orders himself!"

It would seem that sympathy should beoffered him; as if the pause he madeplainly hinted that it was expected. AndyGreen rolled over and sent him a friendlyglance just to hearten him a bit.

"We were listening to the noise of battle,"he observed, "and we were going over, ina minute, to carry off the dead. You had akinda animated discussion oversomething, didn't yuh?" Andy was on hisgood behavior, as he had been for amonth. His treatment of his fellows latelywas little short of angelic. His tonesoothed Slim to the point where he couldvoice his woe.

"Well, by golly, I guess he knows what Ithink of him, or pretty near. I've stood a lotfrom Patsy, off and on, and I've took justabout all I'm going to. It's got so yuh can'tget nothing to eat, hardly, when yuh ride inlate, unless yuh fight for it. Why, by golly,I caught him just as he was going to emptyout the coffee-boiler—and he knew

blamed well I hadn't eat. He'd lefteverything go cold, and he was packingaway the grub like he was late breakingcamp and had a forty mile drive beforedinner, by golly! I just did save myselfsome coffee, and that was all—but it wascold as that creek, and—" Habit impelledhim to stop there long enough to run histongue along the edge of a half-rolledcigarette, and accident caused his eyes tocatch the amused quirk on the lips of Pinkand Irish, and the laughing glance theyexchanged. Possibly if he could havelooked in all directions at the same timehe would have been able to detect signs ofmirth on the faces of the others as well;for Slim's grievances never seemed to betaken seriously by his companions—which is the price which one must pay for

having a body shaped like Santa Claus anda face copied after our old friend in themoon.

"Well, by golly, maybe it's funny—but Itook notice yuh done some yowling, bothuh yuh, the other day when yuh didn't getno pie," he snorted, lighting his cigarettewith unsteady fingers.

"We wasn't laughing at that," lied Pinkpacifically.

"And then, by golly, the old devil lied tome and said there wasn't no pie left," wenton Slim complainingly, his memory stirredby the taunt he had himself given. "But Iwouldn't take his word for a thing if Iknew it was so; I went on a still-huntaround that tent on my own hook, and I

found a pie—a whole pie, by golly!—cached away under an empty flour-sackbehind the stove! That," he added, staring,round-eyed, at the group, "that there wasright where me and Patsy mixed. The lyingold devil said he never knew a thing aboutit being there at all."

Pink turned his head cautiously so that hiseyes met the eyes of Andy Green. The twohad been at some pains to place that pie ina safe place so that they might be sure ofsomething appetizing when they came infrom standing guard that night, but neitherseemed to think it necessary to proclaimthe fact and clear Patsy.

"I'll bet yuh didn't do a thing to the piewhen yuh did find it?" Pink halfquestioned, more anxious than he would

have owned.

"By golly, I eat the whole thing and Icussed Patsy between every mouthful!"boasted Slim, almost in a good-humoragain. "I sure got the old boy stirred up; Ileft him swearin' Dutch cuss-words thatsounded like he was peevish. But I'llbetche he won't throw out the coffee tillI've had what I want after this, by golly!"

"Happy Jack is out yet," Weary observedafter a sympathetic silence. "You oughtn'tto have put Patsy on the fight tilleverybody was filled up, Slim. Happy'sliable to go to bed with an empty tummy,if yuh don't ride out and warn him toapproach easy. Listen over there!"

From where they lay, so still was the air

and so incensed was Patsy, they couldhear plainly the rumbling of his wrathwhile he talked to himself over thedishwashing. When he appeared at thecorner of the tent or plodded out towardthe front of the wagon, his heavy tread andstiff neck proclaimed eloquently the moodhe was in. They watched and listened andwere secretly rather glad they were fedand so need not face the storm which Slimhad raised; for Patsy thoroughly rousedwas very much like an angry bull: till hisrage cooled he would charge whoeverapproached him, absolutely blind toconsequences.

"Well, I ain't going to put nobody next,"Slim asserted. "Happy's got to takechances, same as I did. And while we're

on the subject, Patsy was on the prodbefore I struck camp, or he wouldn't uhacted the way he done. Somebody elseriled him up, by golly—I never."

"Well, you sure did put the finishingtouches to him," contended Irish, guiltilyaware that he himself was originallyresponsible; for Patsy never had likedIrish very well because of certainincidents connected with his introductionto Weary's double. Patsy never couldquite forget, though he might forgive, andresentment lay always close to the surfaceof his mood when Irish was near.

Happy Jack, hungry and quite unconsciousthat he was riding straight into the trail oftrouble, galloped around a ragged point ofservice-berry bushes, stopped with a lurch

at the prostrate corral and unsaddledhastily. Those in the shade of the willowwatched him, their very silenceproclaiming loudly their interest. Theymight have warned him by a word, butthey did not; for Happy Jack was nevereager to heed warnings or to take advice,preferring always to abide by the rule ofopposites. Stiff-legged from long riding,the knees of his old, leather chaps bulgingout in transient simulation of bowedlimbs, he came clanking down upon thecook-tent with no thought but to ease hishunger.

Those who watched saw him stoop andthrust his head into the tent, heard abellow and saw him back out hastily.They chuckled unfeelingly and strained

ears to miss no word of what wouldfollow.

"Aw, gwan!" Happy Jack expostulated,not yet angry. "I got here quick as I could—and I ain't heard nothing about no newlaws uh getting here when the whistleblows. Gimme what there is, anyhow."

Some sentences followed which, becauseof guttural tones and German accentemphasized by excitement, were not quitecoherent to the listeners. However, theydid not feel at all mystified as to hismeaning—knowing Patsy as they did.

"Aw, come off! Somebody must uhslipped yuh a two-gallon jug uhsomething. I've rode the range about aslong as you've cooked on it, and I never

knowed a man to go without his supperyet, just because he come in late. I betcheyuh dassent stand and say that beforeChip, yuh blamed old Dutch—" Just there,Happy Jack dodged and escaped gettingmore than a third of the basin of waterwhich came splashing out of the tent.

The group under the willows could nolonger lie at ease while they listened; theyjumped up and moved closer, just as acrowd always does surge nearer andnearer to an exciting centre. They did not,however, interfere by word or deed.

"If yuh wasn't just about ready t' die of oldage and general cussedness," stormedHappy Jack, "I'd just about kill yuh forthat." This, however, is a revised versionand not intended to be exact. "I want my

supper, and I want it blame quick, too, orthere'll be a dead Dutchman in camp. No,yuh don't! You git out uh that tent andlemme git in, or—" Happy Jack had theaxe in his hand by then, and he swung itfearsomely and permitted the gesture toround out his sentence.

Perhaps there would have been somethingmore than words between them, for even aHappy Jack may be goaded too far whenhe is hungry; but Chip, who had beenwashing out some handkerchiefs down bythe creek, heard the row and came up,squeezing a ball of wet muslin on the way.He did not say much when he arrived, andhe did not do anything more threateningthan hang the handkerchiefs over the guy-ropes to dry, tying the corners to keep the

wind from whipping them away up thecoulee, but the result was satisfying—toHappy Jack, at least. He ate and wasfilled, and Patsy retired from the fray,sullenly owning defeat for that time atleast. He went up the creek out of sightfrom camp, and he stayed there until thedusk was so thick that his big, white-aproned form was barely distinguishablein the gloom when he returned.

At daylight he was his old self, except thathe was perhaps a trifle gruff when hespoke and a good deal inclined to silence,and harmony came and abode for a seasonwith the Flying U.

Patsy had for years cooked for JimWhitmore and his "outfit"; so many yearsit was that memory of the number was

never exact, and even the Old Man wouldhave been compelled to preface thenumber with a few minutes of meditationand a "Lemme see, now; Patsy's beencooking for me—eighty-six was that hardwinter, and he come the spring—no, thefall before that. I know because he like tofroze before we got the mess-housechinked up good—I'll be doggoned ifPatsy ain't gitting old!" That was it,perhaps: Patsy was getting old. And oldage does not often sweeten one's temper,if you notice. Those angelic old men andold ladies have nearly all beenimmortalized in stories and songs, and theunsung remainder have nerves and notionsand rheumatism and tongues sharpened byall the disappointments and sorrows oftheir long lives.

Patsy never had been angelic; he hadalways been the victim of more or less ill-timed humor on the part of the HappyFamily, and the victim of hunger-sharpened tempers as well. He hadalways grumbled and rumbled Dutchprofanity when they goaded him too hard,and his amiability had ever expresseditself in juicy pies and puddings ratherthan in words. On this roundup, however,he was not often amiable and he wasnearly always rumbling to himself. Morethan that, he was becoming resentful ofextra work and bother and he sometimespermitted his resentment to carry himfarther than was wise.

To quarrel with Patsy was rapidlybecoming the fashion, and to gossip about

him and his faults was already a habit; ahabit indulged in too freely, perhaps, forthe good of the camp. Isolation from theworld brings small things into greaterprominence than is normally their due, andlarge troubles are born of very smallirritations.

For two days there was peace of a sort,and then Big Medicine, having eaten nodinner because of a headache, rode intocamp about three o'clock and headedstraight for the mess-wagon, quite as if hehad a right that must not be questioned.Custom did indeed warrant him inlunching without the ceremony of askingleave of the cook, for Patsy even in hismost unpleasant moods had never untillately tried to stop anyone from eating

when he was hungry.

On this day, however, Big Medicineunthinkingly cut into a fresh-baked pie setout to cool. There were other pies, and incutting one Big Medicine was supportedby precedent; but Patsy chose to considerit an affront and snatched the pie fromunder Big Medicine's very nose.

"You fellers vot iss always gobbling yet,you iss quit it alreatty!" rumbled Patsy,bearing the pie into the tent with BigMedicine's knife still lying buried in thelately released juice. "I vork und vorkmine head off keeping you fellers filledoop tree times a day alreatty; I not vorkund vork to feed you effery hour, py cosh.You go mitout till supper iss reaty for youyet."

Big Medicine, his frog-like eyes standingout from his sun-reddened face, staredagape. "Well, by cripes!" He hesitated,looking about him; but whether his searchwas for more pie or for moral support hedid not say. Truth to tell, there was plentyof both. He reached for another pie andanother knife, and he grinned his wide grinat Irish, who had just come up. "Dutchy'strying to run a whizzer," he remarked,cutting a defiant gash clean across thesecond pie. "What do yuh know aboutthat?"

"He's often took that way," said Irishsoothingly. "You don't want all that pie—give me about half of it."

Big Medicine, his mouth too full forcoherent utterance, waved his hand and

his knife toward the shelf at the back ofthe mess-wagon where three more pies satsteaming in the shade. "Help yourself," heinvited juicily when he could speak.

Those familiar with camp life in thesummer have perhaps observed themiraculous manner in which a million orso "yellow-jackets" will come swarmingaround when one opens a can of fruit oruncovers the sugar jar. It was like that.Irish helped himself without any hesitationwhatever, and he had not taken a mouthfulbefore Happy Jack, Weary and Pink werebuzzing around for all the world like the"yellow-jackets" mentioned before. Patsybuzzed also, but no one paid the slightestattention until the last mouthful of the lastpie was placed in retirement where it

would be most appreciated. Then Wearybecame aware of Patsy and his wrath, andturned to him pacifically.

"Oh, yuh don't want to worry none aboutthe pie," he smiled winningly at him."Mamma! How do you expect to keep piesaround this camp when yuh go right onmaking such good ones? Yuh hadn't oughtto be such a crackajack of a cook, Patsy, ifyou don't want folks to eat themselvessick."

If any man among them could have soothedPatsy, Weary would certainly have beenthe man; for next to Chip he was Patsy'sfavorite. To say that he failed is only oneway of making plain how great wasPatsy's indignation.

"Aw, yuh made 'em to be eat, didn't yuh?"argued Happy Jack. "What difference doesit make whether we eat 'em now or twohours from now?"

Patsy tried to tell them the difference. Hecalled his hands and his head to help hisrage-tangled tongue and he managed tomake himself very well understood. Theydid not argue the fine point of gastronomicethics which he raised, though they feltthat his position was not unassailable andhis ultimate victory not assured.

Instead, they peered into boxes and canswhich were covered, gleaned a whole boxof seeded raisins and some shreddedcocoanut just to tease him and retired towrangle ostentatiously over their treasuretrove in the shade of the bed-tent, leaving

Patsy to his anger and his empty tins.

Other men straggled in, drifted with thetide of their appetites to the cook-tent,hovered there briefly and retiredvanquished and still hungry. Theyinvariably came over to the little groupwhich was munching raisins and cocoanutand asked accusing questions. What wasthe matter with Patsy? Who had put him onthe fight like that? and other inquiries uponthe same subject.

Just because they were all lying aroundcamp with nothing to do but eat, Patsy waslate with his supper that night. It wouldseem that he dallied purposely andrevengefully, and though the HappyFamily flung at him taunts and hurry-uporders, it is significant that they shouted

from a distance and avoided coming toclose quarters.

Just how and when they began theirfoolish little game of imitation broncho-fighting does not matter. When work didnot press and red blood bubbled theyfrequently indulged in "rough-riding" oneanother to the tune of much taunting andmany a "Bet yuh can't pitch me off!"Before supper was called they were hardat it and they quite forgot Patsy.

"I'll give any man a dollar that can ride mestraight up, by cripes!" bellowed BigMedicine, going down upon all fours byway of invitation.

"Easy money, and mine from the start!"retorted Irish and immediately straddled

Big Medicine's back. Horses and riderspantingly gave over their own exertionsand got out of the way, for Big Medicineplayed bronk as he did everything else:with all his heart and soul and muscles,and since he was strong as a bull, ridinghim promised much in the way ofexcitement.

"Yuh can hold on by my collar, but if yuhchoke me down I'll murder yuh in coldblood," he warned Irish before he started."And don't yuh dig your heels in my ribsneither, or I'm liable to bust every boneyuh got to your name. I'm ticklish, bycripes!"

"I'll ride yuh with my arms folded if yuhsay so," Irish offered generously. "Move,you snail!" He struck Big Medicine

spectacularly with his hat, yelled at thetop of his voice and the riding beganimmediately and tumultuously.

It is very difficult to describe accuratelyand effectively the evolutions of a horsewhen he "pitches" his worst and hardest. Itis still more difficult to set down in wordsthe gyrations of a man when he is playingthat he is a broncho and is trying todislodge the fellow upon his back. BigMedicine reared and kicked and bellowedand snorted. He came down upon a small"pin-cushion" cactus and was obliged tocall a recess while he extracted threecactus spines from his knee with hissmallest knife-blade and some profanity.

He rolled down his trousers' leg, closedhis knife and tossed it to Pink for fear he

might lose it, examined critically a patchof grass to make sure there were no morecacti hidden there and bawled: "Come on,now, I'll sure give yuh a run for yourmoney this time, by cripes!" and began allover again.

How human muscles can bear the strain heput upon his own must be alwayssomething of a mystery. He describedcurves in the air which would soundincredible; he "swapped ends" with all theease of a real fighting broncho and camenear sending Irish off more than once.Insensibly he neared the cook-tent, wherePatsy so far forgot himself as to stand justwithout the lifted flap and watch the funwith sour interest.

"Ah-h want yuh!" yelled Big Medicine,

quite purple but far from surrender, andgave a leap.

" G o get me!" shouted Irish, whippingdown the sides of his mount with his hat.

Big Medicine answered the taunt by aqueer, twisted plunge which he had savedfor the last. It brought Irish spread-eaglingover his head, and it landed him fairly inthe middle of Patsy's great pan of softbread "sponge"—and landed him upon hishead into the bargain. Irish wriggled therea moment and came up absolutelyunrecognizable and a good deal dazed.Big Medicine rolled helplessly in thegrass, laughing his big, bellowing laugh.

It was straight into that laugh and the greatmouth from where it issued, that Patsy,

beside himself with rage at the accident,deposited all the soft dough which was notclinging to the head and face of Irish. Hewas not content with that. While theHappy Family roared appreciation of thespectacle, Patsy returned with a kettle ofmeat and tried to land that neatly upon thedough.

"Py cosh, if dat iss der vay you wants yourgrub, py cosh, dat iss der vay you gets italreatty!" he brought the coffee-boiler andthrew that also at the two, and followed itwith a big basin of stewed corn.

Irish, all dough as he was, went for himblindly and grappled with him, and it wasupon this turbulent scene which Chiplooked first when he rode up. The HappyFamily crowded around him gasping and

tried to explain.

"They were doing some rough-riding—"

"By golly, Patsy no business to set hisbread dough on the ground!"

"He's throwed away all the supper thereis, and I betche—"

"Mamma! Yuh sure missed it, Chip. Youought—"

"By cripes, if that Dutch—"

"Break away there, Irish!" shouted Chip,dismounting hurriedly. "Has it got so youmust fight an old man like that?"

"Py cosh, I'll fight mit him alreatty! I'llfight mit any mans vat shpoils mine bread.

Maybe I'm old yet but I ain't dead yet und Icould fight—" The words camedisjointedly, mere punctuation points tohis wild sparring.

It was plain that Irish, furious though hewas, was trying not to hurt Patsy verymuch; but it took four men to separatethem for all that. When they had draggedIrish perforce down to the creek by whichthey had camped, and had yelled to BigMedicine to come on and feed the fish,quiet should have been restored—but itwas not.

Patsy was, in American parlance, runningamuck. He was jumbling three languagestogether into an indistinguishable tumult ofsound and he was emptying the cook-tentof everything which his stout, German

muscles could fling from it. Not a thingdid he leave that was eatable and thedishes within his reach he scatteredrecklessly to all the winds of heaven.When one venturesome soul after anotherapproached to calm him, he found itexpedient to duck and run to cover. Patsy'saim was terribly exact.

The Happy Family, under cover or at asafe distance from the hurtling pans, cansand stove wood, caressed sundry bumpsand waited meekly. Irish and BigMedicine, once more disclosing thefeatures God had given them, returned bya circuitous route and joined their fellows.

"Look at 'em over there—he's emptyingevery grain uh rolled oats on the ground!"Happy Jack was a "mush-fiend."

"Somebody better go over and stop 'im—"

"You ain't tied down," suggested CalEmmett rather pointedly, and Happy Jacksaid no more.

Chip, usually so incisively clear as to hisintentions and his duties, waitedirresolutely and dodged missiles alongwith the rest of them. When Patsysubsided for the very good reason thatthere was nothing else which he couldthrow out, Chip took the matter up withhim and told him quite plainly some of theduties of a cook, a few of his privilegesand all of his limitations. The result,however, was not quite what he expected.Patsy would not even listen.

"Py cosh, I not stand for dose poys no

more," he declared, wagging his head withits shiny crown and the fringe of grizzledhair around the back. "I not cook grub fordat Irish und dat Big Medicine und HappyJack und all dose vat cooms und eats minepies und shpoils mine pread und makesdeirselves fools all der time. If dosefellers shtay on dis camp I quits himalreatty." To make the bluff convincing heuntied his apron, threw it spitefully uponthe ground and stamped upon it clumsily,like a maddened elephant.

"Well, quit then!" Chip was fast losing hisown temper, what with the heat and hishunger and a general distaste for camptroubles. "This jangling has got to stopright here. We've had about enough of it inthe last month. If you can't cook for the

outfit peaceably—" He did not finish thesentence, or if he did the distance muffledthe words, for he was leading his horseback to the vicinity of the rope corral thathe might unsaddle and turn him loose.

He heard several voices muttering angrily,but his wrath was ever of the stiff-neckedvariety so that he would not look aroundto see what was the matter. The tumultgrew, however, until when he did turn hesaw Patsy stalking off across the prairiewith his hat on and his coat folded neatlyover his arm, and Irish and Big Medicinefighting wickedly in the open spacebetween the two tents. He finishedunsaddling and then went stalking over toquell this latest development.

"They're trying to find out who was to

blame," Weary informed him when he wasquite close. "Bud hasn't got much tact: hecalled Irish a dough-head. Irish didn'tthink it was true humor, and he hit Bud onthe nose. He claims that Bud pitched himinto that dishpan uh dough with maliceaforethought. Better let 'em argue the pointto a finish, now they're started. It's blackeyes for the peacemaker—you believeme."

While the dusk folded them close and thenighthawks swooped from afar, the HappyFamily gathered round and watched themfight. Chip and Weary thoughtfully wentinto the bed-tent and got the guns whichwere stowed away in the beds of thecombatants, so that when their angerreached the killing point they must let it

bubble harmlessly until the fires which fedit went cold. Which was exceeding wiseof the two, for Big Medicine and Irish didget to that very point and raged all overthe camp because they could not shooteach other.

The hottest battle must perforce endsometime, and so the camp of the Flying Udid at last settle into some semblance ofcalm. Irish rolled his bed, saddled a horseand rode off toward town, quite as if hewere going for good and all. BigMedicine went down to the creek for thesecond time that evening to wash away themarks of strife, and when he returned hewent straight to bed without a word toanyone. Patsy was gone, no man knewwhither, and the cook-tent was as nearly

wrecked as might be.

"Makes me think uh that time we had theringtailed tiger in camp," sighed AndyGreen, shaking sand out of the teakettle sothat it could be refilled.

"By golly, I'd ruther have a whole band uhtagers than this fighting bunch," Slimaffirmed earnestly. Slim was laboringsootily with the stove-pipe which Patsyhad struck askew with a stick of wood.

Outside, Happy Jack was protesting inwhat he believed to be an undertoneagainst being installed in Patsy's place."Aw, that's always the way! Anythingcomes up, it's 'Happy, you git in and rustlesome chuck.' I ain't no cook—or if I bethey might pay me cook's wages. I betche

there ain't another man in camp wouldstand for it. Somebody's got to take thatbacon down to the creek and wash it off, ifyuh want any meat for supper. There ain'tno time to boil beef. If I'd a been boss uhthis outfit, I betche no blame cook on earthwould uh made rough-house like Patsydone." But no one paid the slightestattention to Happy Jack, having plenty tothink of and to do before they slept.

Not even the sun, when it shone again,could warm their hearts to a joy in living.Happy Jack cooked the breakfast, but hiscoffee was weak and his biscuits "soggy,"and Patsy had managed to make the butterabsolutely uneatable with sand; also theywere late and Chip was surly over thedouble loss of cook and cowboy. Happy

Jack packed food and dishes in much thesame spirit which Patsy had shown thenight before, climbed sullenly to the highseat, gathered up the reins of the fourrestive horses, released the brake and letout a yell surcharged with all thebitterness bottled within his soul. He hadnot done anything to precipitate thetrouble. Beyond eating half a pie he hadbeen an innocent spectator, not even takingpart in the rough-riding. Yet here he was,condemned to the mess-wagon quite as ifhe were to blame for Patsy's leaving. Theeyes of Happy Jack gazed gloomily uponthe world, and his driving seemed areckless invitation to disaster. "I betcheI'll make 'em good and sick uh mycooking!" he plotted while he went rattlingand bumping over the untrailed prairie.

He succeeded so well that two days laterChip gave a curt order or two and headedhis wagons, horses and his lean-stomached bunch of riders for Dry Lake,passing by even the Flying U coulee in hishaste. Just outside the town, upon thecreek which saves the inhabitants fromdying of thirst or delirium tremens, he leftthe wagons with Happy Jack, Slim andone alien to set up camp and rode dust-dogged to the little, red depot.

The telegram which went speeding toGreat Falls and to a friend there wasbrief, but it was eloquent and not quiteflattering to Happy Jack. It read like this:

"JOHN G. SCOTT,

"The Palace, Great

Falls.

"For God's sake sendme a cook by returntrain; must delivergoods or die hard.

"BENNETT, FlyingU."

Whether the cook must die hard, orwhether he meant the friend, Chip did nottrouble to make plain. Telegrams arebound by such rigid limitations, and hehad gone over the ten-word rate as it was.But he told Weary to receive the cook, behe white or black, have him restock themess-wagon to his liking and then bringthe outfit to the ranch, when Chip wouldagain take it in hand. He said that he was

going home to get a square meal, and hementioned Happy Jack along with severalprofane words. "Johnny Scott will send acook, and a good one,"; he addedhopefully. "Johnny never threw down afriend in his life and he never will. Andsay, Weary, if he wires, you collect themessage and act accordingly. I'm going tohave a decent supper, to-night!" He wasriding a good horse and there was noreason why he should be late in arriving,especially if he kept the gait at which heleft town.

In two hours Weary, Pink and Andy Greenwere touching hat-brims over a telegramfrom Johnny Scott—a telegram which wasbrief as Chip's, and more illuminating:

"CHIP BENNETT,

"Dry Lake.

"Kidnaped Park hotelchef best cook intown will be on nexttrain.J.G. SCOTT."

"Sounds good," mused Andy, reading itfor the fourth time. "But there's thirteenwords in that telegram, if yuh notice."

"I wish yuh wouldn't try to butt in onHappy Jack's specialty," Wearyremonstrated, folding the message andslipping it inside the yellow envelope. "Ifthis is the same jasper that cooked there amonth ago, we're going to eat ourselvesplumb to death; a better meal I never laidaway inside me than the one I got at the

Park Hotel when I was up there last time.Come on over to the hotel and eat; theirchuck isn't the best in the world, but itcould be a lot worse and still beat HappyJack to a jelly."

PART TWO

The whole Happy Family—barring HappyJack, who was sulking in camp because ofcertain things which had been said of hiscooking and which he had overheard—clanked spurs impatiently upon theplatform and waited for the arrival of thetrain from the West. When at last itsnorted into town and nosed its way up tothe platform they bunched instinctively

and gazed eagerly at the steps which leddown from the smoker.

A slim little man in blue serge, a man withthe complexion of a strip of rawhide andthe mustache of a third-rate orchestraleader, felt his way gingerly down by thelight of the brakeman's lantern, hesitatedand then came questioningly toward them,carrying with some difficulty a bulkysuitcase.

"It's him, all right," muttered Pink whilethey waited.

The little man stopped apologeticallybefore the group, indistinct in the faintlight from the office window. Already thetrain was sliding away into the dark."Pardon," he apologized. "I am looking for

the U fich flies."

"This is it," Weary assured him gravely."We'll take yuh right on out to camp.Pretty dark, isn't it? Let me take your grip—I know the way better than you do."Weary was not in the habit of makinghimself a porter for any man'saccommodation, but the way back towhere they had left the horses was dark,and the new cook was very small andslight. They filed silently back to RustyBrown's place, invited the cook in for adrink and were refused with soft-voicedregret and the gracious assurance that hewould wait outside for them.

Weary it was, and Pink to bear himcompany, who piloted the stranger out tocamp and showed him where he might

sleep in Patsy's bed. Patsy had left town,the Happy Family had been informed, withthe declaration often repeated that he was"neffer cooming back alreatty." He hadeven left behind him his bed and hisclothes rather than meet again any memberof the Flying U outfit.

"We'd like breakfast somewhere nearsunrise," Weary told the cook at parting."Soon as the store opens in the morning,we'll drive in and you can stock up thewagon; we're pretty near down to

cases, judging from the meals we havebeen getting lately. Hope yuh make out allright."

"I will do very nicely, I thank you," smiledthe new cook in the light of the lantern

which stood upon the fireless cook-stove."I wish you good-night, gentlemen, andsweet dreams of loved ones."

"Say, he's a polite son-of-a-gun," Pinkcommented when they were riding back totown. "'The U fich flies'—that's a goodone! What is he, do you thing? French?"

"He's liable to be most anything, and I'llgamble he can build a good dinner for ahungry man. That's the main point," saidWeary.

At daybreak Weary woke and heard himhumming a little tune while he movedsoftly about the cook-tent and the mess-wagon, evidently searching mostly for thethings which were not there, to judge fromstray remarks which interrupted the love

song. "Rolled oat—I do not find him," heheard once. And again: "Where the cleantowels they are, that I do not discover."Weary smiled sleepily and took anothernap.

The cook's manner of announcingbreakfast was such that it awoke evenJack Bates, notoriously a sleepy-head, andCal Emmett who was almost as bad.Instead of pounding upon a pan and lustilyroaring "Grub-pi-i-ile!" in the time-honored manner of roundup cooks, hecame softly up to the bed-tent, lifted a flapdeprecatingly and announced in a velvetvoice:

"Breakfast is served, gentlemen."

Andy Green, whose experiences had been

varied, sat up and blinked at the gentlyswaying flap where the cook had beenstanding. "Say, what we got in camp?" heasked curiously. "A butler?"

"By golly, that's the way a cook oughtabe!" vowed Slim, and reached for his hat.

They dressed hastily and trooped down tothe creek for their morning ablutions, andhurried back to the breakfast whichwaited. The new cook was smiling andapologetic and anxious to please. TheHappy Family felt almost as if there werea woman in camp and became very politewithout in the least realizing that theywere not behaving in the usual manner, ordreaming that they were unconsciouslytrying to live up to their chef.

"The breakfast, it is of a lacking in manythings fich I shall endeavor to remedy," heassured them, pouring coffee as if he wereserving royalty. He was dressedimmaculately in white cap and apron, andhis mustache was waxed to a degreewhich made it resemble a cat's whiskers.The Happy Family tasted the coffee andglanced eloquently at one another. It wasbetter than Patsy's coffee, even; and as forHappy Jack—

There were biscuits, the like of which theynever had tasted before. The bacon wascrisp and delicately brown and delicious,the potatoes cooked in a new and enticingway. The Happy Family showed itsappreciation as seemed to them mostconvincing: They left not a scrap of

anything and they drank two cups of coffeeapiece when that was not their habit.

Later, they hitched the four horses to themess-wagon, learned that the new cook,though he deeply regretted hisinefficiency, did not drive anything. "Thesmall burro," he explained, "I ride him,yes, and also the automobile drive I whenthe way is smooth. But the horses I makenot acquainted with him. I could ride uponthe elevated seat, yes, but to drive thequartet I would not presume."

"Happy, you'll have to drive," said Weary,his tone a command.

"Aw, gwan!" Happy Jack objected, "Herode out here all right last night—unlesssomebody took him up in front on the

saddle, which I hain't heard about nobodydoing. A cook's supposed to do his owndriving. I betche—"

Weary went close and pointed a fingerimpressively. "Happy, you drive," he said,and Happy Jack turned without a wordand climbed glumly up to the seat of themess-wagon.

"Well, are yuh coming or ain't yuh?" heinquired of the cook in a tone surchargedwith disgust.

"If you will so kindly permit, it give megreat pleasure to ride with you and tomake better friendship. It now occurs tome that I have not yet introduce.Gentlemen, Jacques I have the honor to bename. I am delighted to meet you and I

hope for pleasant association." The bowhe gave the group was of the old school.

Big Medicine grinned suddenly and cameforward. "Honest to grandma, I'm happy toknow yuh!" he bellowed, and caught thecook's hand in a grip that sent himsquirming upon his toes. "These here aremy friends: Happy Jack up there on thewagon, and Slim and Weary and Pink andCal and Jack Bates and Andy Green—andthere's more scattered around here, thatdon't reely count except when it comes toeating. We like you, by cripes, and welike your cookin' fine! Now, you amblealong to town and load up with the bestthere is—huh?" It occurred to him that hisfinal remarks might be construed as givingorders, and he glanced at Weary and

winked to show that he meant nothingserious. "So long, Jakie,"he added overhis shoulder and went to where his horsewaited.

Jacques—ever afterward he was knownas "Jakie" to the Flying U—clambered upthe front wheel and perched ingratiatinglybeside Happy Jack, and they started offbehind the riders for the short mile to DryLake. Immediately he proceeded to winHappy from his glum aloofness.

"I would say, Mr. Happy, that I shouldlike exceeding well to be friendstogether," he began purringly. "Sosuperior a gentleman must win theadmiration of the onlooker and so I couldpresume to question for advisement. I amexperience much dexterity for cooking,

yes, but I am yet so ignorant concerningthe duties pertaining to camp. If thedriving of these several horses transpireto pertain, I will so gladly receive thenecessary instruction and endeavor tofulfil the accomplishment. Yes?"

Happy Jack, more in stupefaction at thecook's vocabulary than anything else,turned his head and took a good look athim. And the trustful smile of Jakie wentstraight to the big, soft heart of him andwon him completely. "Aw, gwan," headjured gruffly to hide his surrender. "Idon't mind driving for yuh. It ain't that Iwas kicking about."

"I thank you for the so graciousassurement. If I transgress not too greatly,I should like for inquire what is the chuck

for which I am told to fill the wagon. I donot," he added humbly, "understand yet allthe language of your so glorious country,for fich I have so diligently study thebooks. Words I have not yet assimilatedcompletely, and the word chuck have yetescape my knowledge."

"Chuck," grinned Happy Jack, "is grub."

"Chuck, it is grub," repeated Jakiethoughtfully. "And grub, that is—Yes?"

Happy Jack struggled mentally with theproblem. "Well, grub is grub; all the stuffyuh eat is grub. Meat and flour and coffeeand—"

"Ah, the light it dawns!" exclaimed Jakiejoyously. "Grub it is the supply of

provision fich I must obtain for camping,yes? I thank you so graciously for theinformation; because," he added a bitwistfully, "that little word chuck sheannoy me exceeding and make me for notsleep that I must grasp the meaning fichelude. I am now happy that I do not makethe extensive blunder for one small wordfich I apprehend must be a food fich I mustbuy and perhaps not to understand thepreparation of it. Yes? It is the excellentjest at the expense of me."

"There ain't much chuck in camp," Happyobserved helpfully, "so yuh might as wellstart in and get anything yuh want to cook.The outfit is good about one thing Theydon't never kick on the stuff yuh eat. Thecook always loads up to suit himself, and

nobody don't ask questions or make aholler—so long as there's plenty and it'sgood."

Jakie listened attentively, twisting hismustache ends absently. "It is simply that Ipurchase the supplies fich I shall choosefor my judgment," he observed, to makequite sure that he understood. "I am tohave carte blanche, yes?"

"Sure, if yuh want it," said Happy Jack."Only they might not keep it here. Yuhcan't get everything in a little place likethis." It is only fair to Happy Jack to statethat he would have understood the term ifhe had seen it in print. It was thepronunciation which made the wordsstrange to him.

Jakie looked puzzled, but being the soul ofpoliteness he made no comment—perhapsbecause Happy Jack was at that momentbringing his four horses to a reluctantstand at the wide side-door of the store.

"The horses, they are of the vivacioustemperament, yes?" Jakie had scrambledfrom the seat to within the door and wasstanding there smiling appreciatively atthe team.

"Aw, they're all right. You go on in—Iguess Weary's there. If he ain't, you goahead and get what yuh want. I'll be backafter awhile." Thirst was calling HappyJack; he heeded the summons anddisappeared, leaving the new cook to hisown devices.

So, it would seem, did every othermember of the Flying U. Weary had beentold that Miss Satterly was in town, and heforgot all about Jakie in his haste to findher. No one else seemed to feel anyresponsibility in the matter, and the storeclerks did not care what the Flying Uoutfit had to eat. For that reason the chuck-wagon contained in an hour many articleswhich were strange to it, and lacked a fewthings which might justly be callednecessities.

"Say, you fellows are sure going to liveswell," one of the clerks remarked, whenHappy Jack finally returned. "Where didyuh pick his nibs? Ain't he a little bit newand shiny?"

"Aw, he's all right," Happy Jack defended

jealously. "He's a real chaff, and he canbuild the swellest meals yuh ever eat.Patsy can't cook within a mile uh him. Andclean—I betche he don't keep his bread-dough setting around on the ground forfolks to tromp on." Which proves howcompletely Jakie had subjugated HappyJack.

That night—nobody but the horse-wrangler and Happy Jack had shown up atdinner-time—the boys of the Flying Udined luxuriously at their new-made campupon the creek-bank at the home ranch,and ate things which they could not namebut which pleased wonderfully theirpalates. There was a salad to tempt anepicure, and there was a pudding the likeof which they had never tasted. It had a

French name which left them no wiserthan before asking for it, and it looked, asPink remarked, like a snowbank with thesun shining on it, and it tasted like going toheaven.

"It makes me plumb sore when I think ofall the years I've stood for Patsy's slops,"sighed Cal Emmett, rolling over upon hisback because he was too full for any otherposition—putting it plainly.

"By golly, I never knowed there was suchcookin' in the world," echoed Slim. "Why,even Mis' Bixby can't cook that good."

"The Countess had ought to come downand take a few lessons," declared JackBates emphatically. "I'm going to take upsome uh that pudding and ask her what she

thinks of it."

"Yuh can't," mourned Happy Jack. "Thereain't any left—and I never got more'n ataste. Next time, I'm going to tell Jakie tomake it in a wash tub, and make it full;with some uh you gobblers in camp—"

He looked up and discovered the LittleDoctor approaching with Chip. She wassmiling a friendly welcome, and she wascurious about the new cook. By the timeshe had greeted them all and had asked allthe questions she could think of and hadgone over to meet Jakie and to taste, at theurgent behest of the Happy Family, a tinymorsel of salad which had beenoverlooked, it would seem that thetriumph of the new cook was completeand that no one could possibly give a

thought to old Patsy.

The Little Doctor, however, seemed toregret his loss—and that in the face of thedelectable salad and the smile of Jakie. "Ido think it's a shame that Patsy left the wayhe did," she remarked to the HappyFamily in general, being especiallycareful not to look toward Big Medicine."The poor old fellow walked every stepof the way to the ranch, and Claude"—thatwas Chip's real name—"says it wastwenty-five or six miles. He was so lameand he looked so old and so—well,friendless, that I could have cried when hecame limping up to the house! He hadwalked all night, and he got here just atbreakfast time and was too tired to eat.

"I dosed him and doctored his poor feet

and made him go to bed, and he slept allthat day. He wanted to start that night forDry Lake, but of course we wouldn't lethim do that. He was wild to leave,however, so J.G. had to drive him in thenext day. He went off without a word toany of us, and he looked so utterlydejected and so—so old. Claude says heacted perfectly awful in camp, but I'm surehe was sorry for it afterwards. J.G. hasn'tgot over it yet; I believe he has taken it toheart as much as Patsy seemed to do. He'shad Patsy with him for so long, you see—he was like one of the family." Shestopped and regarded the Happy Family abit anxiously. "This new cook is a verynice little man," she added after a minute,"but after all, he isn't Patsy."

The Happy Family did not answer, andthey refrained from looking at one anotheror at the Little Doctor.

At last Big Medicine brought his big voiceinto the awkward silence. "Honest tograndma, Mrs. Chip," he said earnestly,"I'd give a lot right now to have old Patsyback—er—just to have around, if it madehim feel bad to leave. I reckon maybe thatwas my fault: I hadn't oughta pitched quiteso hard, and I had oughta looked where Iwas throwin' m' rider. I reelize that nocook likes to have a fellow standin' on hishead in a big pan uh bread-sponge, ongeneral principles if not on account uh thebread. Uh course, we've all knowed oldPatsy to take just about as great libertieshimself with his sponge—but we've got to

recollect that it was his dough, by cripes,and that pipe ashes ain't the same as afellow takin' a shampoo in the pan. No, Ireelize that I done wrong, and I'm willin'to apologize for it right here and now. Atthe same time," he ended dryly, "I willown that I'm dead stuck on little Jakie, andI'd ruther ride for the Flying U and eatJakie's grub than any other fate I can thinkof right now. Whilst I'm sorry for what Idone, yuh couldn't pry me loose fromJakie with a stick uh dynamite—and that'sa fact, Mrs. Chip."

The Little Doctor laughed, pushed backher hair in the way she had, glanced againat the unresponsive faces of the originalmembers of the Happy Family and gave upas gracefully as possible.

"Oh, of course Patsy's an old crank, andJakie's a waxed angel," she surrenderedwith a little grimace. "You think so now,but that's because you are being led astrayby your appetites, like all men. You justwait: You'll be homesick for a sight ofthat fat, bald-headed, cranky old Patsybouncing along on the mess-wagon andswearing in Dutch at his horses, beforeyou're through. If you're not so completelygone over to Jakie that you will eatnothing but what he has cooked, come onup to the house. The Countess is making atwogallon freezer of ice-cream for you,and she has a big pan of angel cake to gowith it! You don't deserve it—but comealong anyway." Which was anotherendearing way of the Little Doctor's—theway of sweetening all her lectures with

something very nice at the end.

The Happy Family felt very muchashamed and very sorry that they could notfeel kindly toward Patsy, even to pleasethe Little Doctor. They sincerely wantedto please her and to have her unqualifiedapproval; but wanting Patsy back, orfeeling even the slightest regret that hewas gone, seemed to them a great deal toomuch to ask of them. Since this is a storyof cooks and of eating, one may withpropriety add, however, that the invitationto ice cream and angel cake, comingthough it did immediately after thatwonderful supper of Jakie's, was acceptedwith alacrity and their usual thoroughnessof accomplishment; not for the worldwould they have offended the Little

Doctor by declining so gracious aninvitation—the graciousness beingmanifested in her smile and her voicerather than in the words she spoke—leaving out the enchantment which hoversover the very name of angel cake and icecream. The Happy Family went to bed thatnight as complacently uncomfortable aschildren after a Christmas dinner.

Not often does it fall to the lot of acowboy to have served to him stuffedolives and lobster salad with mayonnaisedressing, French fried potatoes and creampuffs from the mess-tent of a roundupoutfit. During the next week it fell to thelot of the Happy Family, however. Whenthe salads and the cream puffsdisappeared suddenly and the smile of

Jakie became pensive and contrite, theHappy Family, acting individually butunanimously, made inquiries.

"It is that I no more possess the freshvegetables, nor the eggs, gentlemen,"purred Jakie. "Many things of adeliciousness must I now abstain becauseof the absence of two, three small eggs!But see, one brief arrival in the smalltown would quickly remedy, yes? It is thatwe return with haste that I may buy moreof the several articles for fich I require?"He spread his small hands appealingly.

"By golly, Patsy never had no eggs—"began Slim traitorously.

"Aw, gwan! Patsy never fed yuh like Jakiedoes, neither!" Happy Jack was heart and

soul the slave of the chef. "If Chip don'tcare, I'll ride over to Nelson's and gitsome eggs. Jakie said he'd make somemore uh that pudding if he had some. Itain't but six or seven miles."

"Should you but obtain the juvenile hen,yes, I should be delighted to serve thechicken salad for luncheon. It is the greatmisfortune that the fresh vegetable are notobtain, but I will do the best and substitutewith a cleverness fich will conceal thedefect—yes?" Jakie's caps and aprons hadlost their first immaculate freshness, buthis manner was as royally perfect as everand his smile as wistfully friendly.

"Well, I'll ask Chip about it," Happy Jackyielded.

Eggs and young chickens were of a truthstrange to a roundup in full blast, but sowas a chef like Jakie, and so were thesalads, stuffed olives and cream puffs; andthe white caps and the waxed mustacheand the beautiful flow of words and thesmile. The Happy Family was in nocondition, mentally or digestively, tojudge impartially. A month ago they wouldhave whooped derision at the suggestionof riding anywhere after fresh eggs and"juvenile hens," but now it seemed to themvery natural and very necessary. So muchfor the demoralization of expert cookeryand white caps and a smile.

Chip also seemed to have fallen under thespell. It may have been that the heavenlypeace which wrapped the Flying U was,

in his mind, too precious to be lightlydisturbed. At any rate he told Happy Jackbriefly to "Go ahead, if you want to," andso left unobstructed the path to the chickensalad and cream puffs. Happy Jack wipedhis hands upon an empty flour sack, rolleddown his shirtsleeves and hurried off tosaddle a horse.

Happy Jack did not realize that he wasdoing two thirds of the work about thecook-tent, but that was a fact. BecauseJakie could not drive the mess-wagonteam, Happy Jack had been appointed hisassistant. As assistant he drove the wagonfrom one camping place to another,"rustled" the wood, peeled the potatoes,tended fires and washed dishes, and didthe thousand things which do not require

expert hands, and which, in time of stress,usually falls to the horse-wrangler. Jakiewas ever smiling and always promising,in his purring voice, to cook somethingnew and delicious, and left with theleisure which Happy's industry gave him,he usually kept his promise.

"Now, Mr. Happy," he would smile, "I amagreeable to place the confidence in yourso gracious person that you prepare thepotatoes, yes? And that you attend to theboiling of meat and the unpacking andarrangement of those necessary furnishingsfor fich you possess the greatunderstanding. And I shall prepare the sodelicious dessert of the floating island,what you call in America. Yes? Ourfriends will have the so delightful

astonishment when they arrive. They shallexclaim and partake joyously, is it not?And for your reward, Mr. Happy, I shallbe so pleased to set aside a very extensiveportion of the delicious floating island, sothat you can eat no more except youendanger your handsome person from thebursting. Yes?" And oh, the smile of him!

A man of sterner stuff than Happy Jackwould have fallen before such guile andwould have labored willingly—nay,gladly in the service of so delightful adiplomat as Jakie. Except for that willingservice, Jakie would have been quiteoverwhelmed by the many and peculiarduties of a roundup cook. He would havebeen perfectly helpess before the morningand noon packing of dishes and food, and

the skilful haste necessary to unpack andprepare a meal for fifteen ravenousappetites within the time limit would havebeen utterly impossible. Jakie was a chef,trained to his profession in well-appointed kitchens and with assistancealways at hand; which is a trade apartfrom cooking for a roundup crew.

Happy Jack, in the fulness of time,returned with the eggs. That is, he returnedwith six eggs and a quart or two of ayellowish mixture thickly powdered withshell. He took the pail to Jakie and he sawthe seraphic smile fade from his face andan unpleasant glitter creep into his eyes.

"It is the omelet fich you furnish, yes? Thesix eggs, they will not make the pudding.The omelet—I do not perceive yet the

desirableness of the omelet. And thejuvenile hen—yes?"

"Aw, they wouldn't sell no chickens."Happy Jack's face had gone long andscarlet before the patent displeasure of theother. "And my horse was scared uh thebucket and pitched with me."

Jackie looked again into the pail, feltgingerly the yellow mess and discoveredone more egg which retained somesemblance of its original form. "Themisfortune distresses me," he murmured."It is that you return hastily, Mr. Happy,and procure other eggs fich you will placeunbroken in my waiting hands, yes?"

Happy Jack mopped his forehead andglanced at the sun, burning hotly down

upon the prairie. They had made a shortmove that day and it was still early. Butthe way to Nelson's and back had been hotand tumultuous and he was tired. For thefirst time since his abject surrender to thewaxed smile, Happy Jack chafed a bitunder the yoke of voluntary servitude."Aw, can't yuh cook something that don'ttake so many eggs?" he asked in somethinglike his old, argumentative tone.

The unpleasant glitter in the eyes of Jakiegrew more pronounced; grew even snaky,in the opinion of Happy Jack. "It is that Iam no more permitted the privilege ofpreparing the food for fich I have thejudgment, yes?" His voice purred toomuch to be convincing. "It is that I am nomore the chef to be obeyed by my

servant?"

"Aw, gwan! I ain't anybody's servant that Iever heard of!" Happy Jack felt himselfbewilderedly slipping from his loyalty.What had come over Jakie, to act likethis? He walked away to where there wassome shade and sat down sullenly. Jakie'sservant, was he? Well! "The darned littlegreasy-faced runt," he mumbledrebelliously, and immediately felt thebetter for it.

Two cigarettes brought coolness andcalm. Happy Jack wanted very much to liethere and take a nap, but his consciencestirred uneasily. The boys were making along circle that day and would come inwith the appetites—and the tempers—ofwolves. It occurred to Happy Jack that

their appetites were much keener than theyhad ever been before, and he sat there alittle longer while he thought about it; forHappy Jack's mind was slow andtenacious, and he hated to leave a newidea until he had squeezed it dry of allmystery. He watched Jakie moving indesultory fashion about the tent—but mostof the time Jakie stayed inside.

"I betche the boys ain't gitting enough oldstand-by-yuh chuck," he decided at length."Floatin' island and stuffed olives—forthem that likes stuffed olives—and saladand all that junk tastes good—but I betchethe boys need a good feed uh beans!"Which certainly was brilliant of HappyJack, even if it did take him a full hour toarrive at that conclusion. He got up

immediately and started for the cook-tent.

"Say, Jakie," he began before he wasinside, "ain't there time enough to boil apot uh beans if I make yuh a good fire? Ibetche the boys would like a good feed—"

"A-a-hh!" Happy Jack insisted afterwardthat it sounded like the snarling of a wolfover a bone. "Is it that you come here togive the orders? Is it that you insult?"Followed a torrent of molten French, as itwere. Followed also Jakie, with the eyesof a snake and the toothy grin of a wildanimal and with a knife which Happy Jackhad never seen before; a knife whichcaught the sunlight and glittered horridly.

Happy Jack backed out as if he hadinadvertently stirred a nest of hornets.

Jakie almost caught him before he took tohis heels. Happy never waited to discoverwhat the new cook was saying, or whetherhe was following or remaining at the tent.He headed straight for the protection ofthe horse-wrangler, who watched hiscavvy not far away, and his face was thecolor of stale putty.

The horse-wrangler saw him coming andcame loping up to meet him. "What'seating yuh, Happy?" he inquiredinelegantly.

"Jakie—he's gone nutty! He come at mewith a knife, and he'd uh killed me if I'dstayed!" Happy Jack pantingly recoveredhimself. "I didn't have no time ta git mygun," he added in a more natural tone, "orI'd uh settled him pretty blame quick. So I

come out to borrow yourn. I betche I'llhave the next move."

The horse-wrangler grinned heartlessly. "Ireckon he's about half shot," he said,sliding over in the saddle and getting outthe inevitable tobacco sack and papers."Old Pete Williams rode past while youwere gone, loaded to the guards and witha bottle uh whisky in each saddle-pocketand two in his coat. He gave me a drink,and then he went on and stopped at camp.He was hung up there for quite a spell, Inoticed. I didn't see him pass any uh thevile liquor to little Jakie, but—" hetwirled a blackened match stub in hisfingers and then tossed it from him.

"Aw, gwan! Jakie wouldn't touch nothingwhen he was in town," Happy Jack

objected. "I betche he's gone crazy, or else—"

"Well," interrupted the horse-wrangler,"I've told yuh what I know and all I know.Take it or leave it." He rode back to turnthe lead-horse from climbing a ridgewhere he did not want the herd to follow.He did not lend Happy Jack his gun, andfor that reason—perhaps—Jakie remainedalive and unpunctured until the first of theriders came loping in to camp.

The first riders happened to be Pink andBig Medicine. They were met by a tearful,contrite Jakie—a Jakie who seemed muchinclined to weeping upon their shirt-frontsand to confessing all his sins, particularlythe sin of trying to carve Happy Jack. Thatperturbed gentleman made his irate

appearance as soon as he found thatreinforcements had arrived.

Big Medicine disengaged himself from theclinging arms of the chef, sniffedsuspiciously and wiped away the tearsfrom his vest. "Well, say," he bellowed inhis usual manner of trying to make allChouteau County hear what he had to say,"I ain't t' blame if he got away on yuh. Yuhhadn't ought to uh done it—or else yuhoughta made a clean job of it sos't wecould hang yuh proper. Supper ready?"

"It is that the supply of eggs isinadequate," wept Jakie, steadying himselfagainst the tent-pole while he wiped hiseyes upon his apron. "Because of it Icould not prepare the floating island—andwithout the dessert I have not the heart to

prepare the dinner, yes? It is that I ambreaking of the heart that I assail the goodfriend of me. Oh, Mr. Happy, it is that Icrave pardon!"

Happy Jack came near taking to his heelsagain when he saw Jakie start for him; hedid back up hastily, and his evidentreluctance to embrace and forgive startedafresh the tears of remorse. Jakie wailedvolubly and, catching Pink unaware, hewept upon his bosom.

Others came riding in, saw the huddlebefore the mess-tent and came up toinvestigate. With every fresh arrival Jakiebegan anew his confession that he hadattempted to murder his good friend, Mr.Happy, and with every confession he weptmore copiously than before.

The Happy Family tacitly owned itselfhelpless. A warlike cook they could dealwith. A lazy cook they could kick intoindustry. A weeping, wailing, conscience-stricken cook, a cook who steadfastlyrefused to be comforted, was anabsolutely new experience. They told himto buck up, found that he only broke outanew, threatened, cajoled and argued.Jakie clung to whoever happened to bewithin reach and mixed the Englishlanguage unmercifully.

"Happy, you'll have to forgive him," saidWeary at last. "Go tell him yuh don't feelhard towards him. We want some supper."

"Aw, gwan. I ain't forgive him, and Inever will. I—"

Big Medicine stepped into the breach.With his face contorted into a grin tocrimple one's spine, with a voice to makeone's knees buckle, he went up to HappyJack and thrust that horrible grin intoHappy's very face. "By cripes, you forgiveJakie, and you do it quick!" he thundered."Think you're going to ball up the eatinguh the whole outfit whilst you standaround acting haughty? Why, by cripes,I've killed men in the Coconino County forhalf what you're doing! You'll wish, bycripes, that Jakie had slit your hide; you'llconsider that woulda been an easy wayout, before I git half through with yuh. Youwalk right up and shake hands with him,and you tell him that yuh love him to deathand are his best friend and always willbe! Yuh hear me?"

Happy Jack heard. The Happy Familyconsiderately moved aside and left him aclear path, and they looked on without aword while he took Jakie's limp hand,muttered tremulously, "Aw, fergit it, Jakie.I know yuh didn't mean nothing by it, and Iforgive yuh," and backed away again.

Jakie wept, this time with gratitude. Theygot him inside a tent, unrolled his bed andpersuaded him to lie down upon it. Theysearched the mess-box, found all that wasleft of a quart bottle of whisky, took itoutside and divided it gravely andappreciatively among themselves. Therewas not much to divide.

Happy Jack took charge of the pots andpans, with the whole Happy Family tohelp him hurry supper, while Jakie forgot

his woes in sleep and the sun set upon aquiet camp.

Next morning, Jakie was up and cookingbreakfast at the appointed time, and thecamp felt that the incident of the eveningbefore might well be forgotten. The coffeewas unusually good that morning, even forJakie. He was subdued, was Jakie, and hissoft, brown eyes were humble wheneverthey met the eyes of Happy Jack. Hissmile was infrequent and fleeting, and hisvoice more deprecating than ever. Asidefrom these minor changes everythingseemed the same as before the sheepmenhad stopped at camp.

That afternoon, however, came anaftermath in the shape of Happy Jackgalloping wildly out to where the others

were holding a herd and "cutting out." Hewas due to come and help, so nobody paidany attention to his haste, though it was hishabit to take his time. He shot recklesslyby the outer fringes of the "cut" and yelledin a way to stampede the whole bunch."Jakie's dying," he shouted, wild-eyed."He's drunk up all the lemon extract andmost uh the v'nilla before I could stophim!"

Chip and Weary, riding in hot haste to thecamp, found that it was true as far as thedrinking was concerned. Jakie wasstretched upon his back breathingunpleasantly, and beside him were twoflat bottles of half-pint size, one empty andthe other very nearly so; the tent andJakie's breath reeked of lemon and

vanilla. Chip sent back for help.

For the second time the Flying U roundupwas brought to an involuntary pausebecause of its cook. There was but onething to do, and Chip did it. He brokecamp, loaded Jakie into the bed-wagon,and headed at a gallop for Dry Lake in aneffort to catch the next train for GreatFalls. Whether he sent Jakie to thehospital or to the undertaker was aquestion he did not attempt to answer; onething was certain, however, that he mustsend him to one of those places as soon asmight be.

That night, just before the train arrived, hesent another telegram to Johnny Scott atrush rates. He said simply:

"Send another cookimmediately this oneall in am returninghim in baggage coachthis train.

"C.BENNETT."

Just after midnight he went to the stationand received an answer, which is worthrepeating:

"C. BENNETT, DryLake: Supply cooksrunning low amsending onlyavailable don't killthis one or may haveto go without season

on cooks closed fineattached to killing,running with dogs orkeeping in captivitythis one drunk lookfor him in Pullmanhave bribed porter. J.G. SCOTT."

It was sent collect, which accountsperhaps for the facetious remarks which itcontained.

It was morning when that train arrived,because it was behind time for somereason, but Chip, Weary, Pink and BigMedicine were at the depot to meet it. Thenew cook having been reported drunk,they wanted to make sure of getting himoff the train in case he proved unruly.

They were wise in the ways of intoxicatedcooks. They ran to the steps of the onlyPullman on the train and were met by thegrinning porter.

"Yas sah, he's in dah—but Ah cyan't git'im off, sah, to save mah soul," heexplained toothily. "Ah put 'im next defront end, sah, but he's went to sleep andAh cyan't wake 'em up, an' Ah cyan't tote'em out nohow. Seems lak he weighs aton!"

"By cripes, we'll tote him out," declaredBig Medicine, pushing ahead of Chip inhis enthusiasm. "You hold the train, andwe'll git 'im. Show us the bunk."

The porter pointed out the number andretreated to the steps that he might signal

the conductor. The four pushed up throughthe vestibule and laid hold upon the berthcurtains.

"Mamma!" ejaculated Weary in a stunnedtone. "Look what's in here, boys!"

They thrust forward their heads andpeered in at the recumbent form.

"Honest to grandma—it's old Patsy!" Thevoice of Big Medicine brought heads outall along down the car.

"Come out uh that!" Four voices made upthe chorus, and Patsy opened his eyesreluctantly.

"Py cosh, I not cook chuck for you fellersven I'm sick," he mumbled dazedly.

"Come out uh that, you damned Dutchbelly-robber!" bawled Big Medicinejoyously, and somewhere behind a curtaina feminine shriek was heard at theshocking sentence.

Four pairs of welcoming hands laid holdupon Patsy; four pairs of strong armsdragged him out of the berth and throughthe narrow aisle to the platform. Theconductor, the head brakeman and theporter were chafing there, and they pulledwhile the others pushed. So Patsy wasdeposited upon the platform, grumblingand only half sober.

"Anyway, we've got him back," Wearyremarked with much satisfaction the nextday when they were once more startedtoward the range land. "When Irish blows

in again, we'll be all right."

"By cripes, yuh just give me a sight uh thatIrish once, and he'll come, if I have torope and drag 'im!" Big Medicine took hisown way of intimating that he held nogrudge. "Did yuh hear what Patsy said, bycripes, when he was loading up the chuck-wagon at the store? He turned in all thatoil and them olives and anchovies, yuhknow, and he told Tom t' throw in aboutsix cases uh blueberries. I was standin'right handy by, and he turns around andscowls at me and says: 'Py cosh, der vaydese fellers eats pie mit derselves, I haveto fill oop der wagon mit pie fruitalreatty!' And then the old devil turnsaround with his back to me, but yuh canskin me for a coyote if I didn't ketch a grin

on 'is face!"

They turned and looked back to wherePatsy, seated high upon the mess-wagon,was cracking his long whip like pistolshots and swearing in Dutch at his fourhorses as he came bouncing along behindthem.

"Well, there's worse fellers than oldPatsy," Slim admitted ponderously. "Idon't want no more Jakie in mine, bygolly."

"I betche Jakie cashes in, with all thatlemon in him," prophesied Happy Jackwith relish. "Dirty little Dago—it'd servehim right. Patsy wouldn't uh acted like thatin a thousand years."

They glanced once more behind them, as ifthey would make sure that the presence ofPatsy was a reality. Then, with content intheir hearts, they galloped blithely out ofthe lane and into the grassy hills.

THE END.

What the Critics say of

Chip of the Flying U.

By M. BOWER.

"'Chip' is all right. Better than 'TheVirginian.'"

—Brooklyn Eagle.

"The name of B.M. Bower will stand forsomething readable in the estimation ofevery man, and most every woman, whoreads this fine new story of Montana ranchand its dwellers."—Publisher & Retailer.

"Its qualities and merit can be summed up

in the brief but sufficient statement that itis thoroughly delightful."

—Albany Times-Union.

"For strength of interest, vividdescription, clever and convincingcharacter, drawing and literary merit it isthe surprise of the year."

—Walden's Stationer and Printer.

"It is an appealing story told in an activestyle which fairly sparkles in reproducingthe atmosphere of the wild and woollyWest. It is consistently forceful andcontains a quantity of refreshing comedy."

—Philadelphia Press.

"Bound to stand among the famous novels

of the year."

—Baltimore American.

"'The Virginian' has found many imitators,but few authors have come as nearduplicating Owen Wister's magnetic heroas has B.M. Bower, 'Chip of the FlyingU.'"—Philadelphia Item.

"B.M. Bower has portrayed but fewcharacters, but these he has pictured withthe strong and yet delicate stroke of a truemaster. The atmosphere of the West isperfect; one sees and feels the vibrant,vital life of the ranch activities all throughthe telling of the story."

—Cincinnati Times-Star.

"It brims over with humor showing the

bright and laughing side of ranch life. It isa story which will delightfully entertainthe reader."

—Portland Journal.

"The story contains strength of interest,vivid descriptions, clever and convincingcharacter drawing and literary merits, andthe author lays on the colors with amaster's touch."—Albany EveningJournal.

12mo, Cloth Bound, Color Illustrations,$.25

G.W. DILLINGHAM CO., Publishers,NEW YORK

What the Critics say of

The Range Dwellers.

By B.M. BOWER.

"A clever and humorous story, delightfullyclean and wholesome, and possessingenough of the dramatic and dangerouselement to keep the imagination excited tothe end."—The Nashville American.

"A bright, jolly, entertaining yarn withouta dull page."—The Chicago Inter-Ocean.

"One of the most charming and appealingof all Western novels. There is action andvivacity at all times, and the reader'sinterest never sways for an instant. The

story is admirably written and runs alongsmoothly at all times."—PhiladelphiaPress.

"Here are every day, genuine cowboys,just as they really exist, spirited action, arange feud between two families, and aRomeo and Juliet courtship in the FarWest which make easy reading. Mr.Bower knows his wild west intimatelyand writes of it entertainingly."—DesMoines Register and Leader.

"Told with a good deal of humor and a lotof unusual spirit. A very clever book—one that has more atmosphere than usual,and which can be picked up at any time tofill a long felt want forexcitement."—Philadelphia Inquirer.

"A tale to set the blood tingling. It is astory of the West, with the scene laid on aMontana cattle ranch. A story well toldand a story worth reading."—St. LouisRepublic.

"Mr. Bower has portrayed but fewcharacters, but these he has pictured withthe strong and yet delicate stroke of a truemaster. The atmosphere of the West isperfect; one sees and feels the vibrantvital life of the ranch activities all throughthe telling of the story."—PittsburghDispatch.

"Has many stirring situations and excitingincidents illustrative of existence in theopen."—Boston Budget-Beacon.

"The book is vigorous, with the bracing

open air of the Far West."—RochesterHerald.

12mo, Cloth Bound

Beautiful Color Illustrations by CharlesM. Russell, $1.25

G.W. DILLINGHAM CO., Publishers,NEW YORK

RAW GOLD

By BERTRAND W.SINCLAIR

"This is a stirring story of the CanadianNorthwest and the Northwest MountedPolice. The unwritten history of thiswonderful and intrepid body of men mustbe a long way from the dry-as-dusthistories on the shelves. It is an openquestion if people do not get more realhistory in a clear, clean-cut tale of thiskind, with its strong character portrayaland its vivid local coloring, than could be

obtained in any other way."

—St. Louis Times.

"Action enough to thrill the dullest sort ofreader."

—Albany Times-Union.

"The delineation of characters in this taleof the Northwest Mounted Police issplendidly portrayed. They are flesh-and-blood personalities. There is something ofmystery, bits of sharp action, color,description, life. A well-told story."

—Pittsburg Dispatch.

"The story is sensational, but is full ofanimation. Scenes shift rapidly and theactors play the game of life fearlessly and

like men. The love theme runs through itall and pleasantly."

—Chicago Tribune.

"It is strong, virile, captivating and welltold."

—Denver Republican.

"A rattling good story. There is sentimentof the kind that fits with the open sky andlife in the saddle, and the whole storymoves with a swing and reality that arerefreshing in the extreme."—New YorkTimes.

"Wild, indeed, is the West pictured by Mr.Sinclair."

—Boston Transcript.

"The tale, rapid in action and clearly told,is one of the best written on the CanadianWest."—Louisville Courier-Journal.

12mo, Cloth bound, Illustrated, $1.50.

G.W. DILLINGHAM CO., Publishers,NEW YORK

WYOMINGA Story of the Outdoor West

BY

William MacLeod Raine

Author of "Ridgeway of Montana," "ADaughter of Raasay," Etc.

In this vivid story the author has capturedthe breezy charm of "Cattleland," andbrings to us the turbid life of the frontierwith all its engaging dash and vigor. It is

the kind of book one reads at a sitting farinto the night.

A young woman, fresh from theconventional East, drives her motor carinto an absorbing adventure which is thefirst of a series of dramatic events thattread upon each other's heels and growmore intense and thrilling from page topage.

The gallant vagabond, Ned Bannister, whoenthralls the heroine's fancy, against herwill, is reputed to be a lawless desperadoof the worst type. Yet the reader joinswith the wholly delightful young heroinein yielding him full sympathy. How themystery is solved to the satisfaction of allis one of the pleasures that must bereserved for a reading.

The characters each and all are drawnwith masterly vigor and help forward theswift movement of the plot.

12mo. Illustrated. Cloth bound, $1.50.

G.W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

What They Say About

RIDGWAY OFMONTANA

By WILLIAM MACLEODRAINE

"To-day I had it out with 'Ridgway.' Iopened the book and I did not lay it downtill I had raced eagerly through it. I find ita story with many elements of power in itstreatment of plot and personality. The menare all well-marked types. The women areall possible and pleasant beings. The storygives dramatically the inner life of a

mining camp. The atmosphere of wildnature and primeval human passion iswell sustained. The exuberance of detailand suggestion, the easy drawing ofcharacter, the fine massing of effects, allshow a strength and fire in the authorwhich ought to give us a line of goodbooks from his pen in the coming days."

—EDWIN MARKHAM, in The New YorkAmerican.

"Whatever else the reader of this novelmay say, he certainly will be forced toadmit that it is highly interesting. Mr.Raine is not only skillful in devisingincidents which compel unweariedattention; he also has the rarer and finercraftsmanship which enables him to createcharacters that have a high degree of

personal charm."—Boston Transcript.

"A story engrossing all the waythrough."—New York World.

"It is a real pleasure to pick up a book likethis one. To use an old phrase, the story isone which can hardly be put down."

—Minneapolis Tribune.

"The action starts with the first line, andthere is no suspension until the last wordis written. It is a story of thrillingsituations, busy people and stirring times.Once started to read it there is no quittingthe book."—Denver Republican.

"Full of action and written withremarkable vigor."

—Charleston News and Courier.

"Mr. Raine's experience as a newspaperman has stood him in good stead. Heknows the corrupt workings of politicians,the venality of biased courts, the weaknessof the human heart when tempted by gold.More, he knows the details by which allthese are made manifest in unjust laws,unfair verdicts and treachery to one's bestfriends."

—Denver Post.

"The political contest, the love scenes,and the character drawing give this storyof life in the mining country great strengthand charm."—Pittsburg Dispatch.

"Western stories are always in demand,

and of these William MacLeod Raine isthe most popular and successful writer.This is an exceptionally entertainingbook."—Albany Times-Union.

12mo. Cloth bound. Illustrated, $1.50

G.W. DILLINGHAM CO., Publishers,NEW YORK

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of TheHappy Family, by Bertha Muzzy Bower

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE HAPPY FAMILY ***

***** This file should be named 13670-

h.htm or 13670-h.zip *****This and all associated files of variousformats will be found in:http://www.gutenberg.net/1/3/6/7/13670/

Produced by Suzanne Shell, VictoriaWoosley and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

Updated editions will replace the previousone--the old editionswill be renamed.

Creating the works from public domainprint editions means that noone owns a United States copyright inthese works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it inthe United States withoutpermission and without paying copyrightroyalties. Special rules,set forth in the General Terms of Use partof this license, apply tocopying and distributing ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works toprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept

and trademark. ProjectGutenberg is a registered trademark, andmay not be used if youcharge for the eBooks, unless you receivespecific permission. If youdo not charge anything for copies of thiseBook, complying with therules is very easy. You may use this eBookfor nearly any purposesuch as creation of derivative works,reports, performances andresearch. They may be modified and printedand given away--you may dopractically ANYTHING with public domaineBooks. Redistribution issubject to the trademark license,especially commercialredistribution.

*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSEPLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE ORUSE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tmmission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by usingor distributing this work(or any other work associated in any waywith the phrase "ProjectGutenberg"), you agree to comply with allthe terms of the Full ProjectGutenberg-tm License (available with thisfile or online athttp://gutenberg.net/license).

Section 1. General Terms of Use andRedistributing Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of thisProject Gutenberg-tmelectronic work, you indicate that youhave read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this licenseand intellectual property(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you donot agree to abide by allthe terms of this agreement, you mustcease using and return or destroy

all copies of Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic works in your possession.If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy ofor access to a ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic work and you donot agree to be bound by theterms of this agreement, you may obtain arefund from the person orentity to whom you paid the fee as setforth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registeredtrademark. It may only beused on or associated in any way with anelectronic work by people whoagree to be bound by the terms of thisagreement. There are a fewthings that you can do with most ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic workseven without complying with the full termsof this agreement. Seeparagraph 1.C below. There are a lot ofthings you can do with ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works if youfollow the terms of this agreementand help preserve free future access toProject Gutenberg-tm electronic

works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation ("the Foundation"or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright inthe collection of ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly allthe individual works in thecollection are in the public domain in theUnited States. If anindividual work is in the public domain inthe United States and you arelocated in the United States, we do notclaim a right to prevent you fromcopying, distributing, performing,displaying or creating derivativeworks based on the work as long as allreferences to Project Gutenbergare removed. Of course, we hope that youwill support the ProjectGutenberg-tm mission of promoting freeaccess to electronic works byfreely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm worksin compliance with the terms ofthis agreement for keeping the ProjectGutenberg-tm name associated withthe work. You can easily comply with the

terms of this agreement bykeeping this work in the same format withits attached full ProjectGutenberg-tm License when you share itwithout charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place whereyou are located also governwhat you can do with this work. Copyrightlaws in most countries are ina constant state of change. If you areoutside the United States, checkthe laws of your country in addition tothe terms of this agreementbefore downloading, copying, displaying,performing, distributing orcreating derivative works based on thiswork or any other ProjectGutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes norepresentations concerningthe copyright status of any work in anycountry outside the UnitedStates.

1.E. Unless you have removed allreferences to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with activelinks to, or other immediateaccess to, the full Project Gutenberg-tmLicense must appear prominentlywhenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which thephrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, orwith which the phrase "ProjectGutenberg" is associated) is accessed,displayed, performed, viewed,copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You maycopy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the ProjectGutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.net

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derivedfrom the public domain (does not contain anotice indicating that it isposted with permission of the copyrightholder), the work can be copied

and distributed to anyone in the UnitedStates without paying any feesor charges. If you are redistributing orproviding access to a workwith the phrase "Project Gutenberg"associated with or appearing on thework, you must comply either with therequirements of paragraphs 1.E.1through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for theuse of the work and theProject Gutenberg-tm trademark as setforth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is postedwith the permission of the copyrightholder, your use and distributionmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1through 1.E.7 and any additionalterms imposed by the copyright holder.Additional terms will be linkedto the Project Gutenberg-tm License forall works posted with thepermission of the copyright holder foundat the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or removethe full Project Gutenberg-tmLicense terms from this work, or any filescontaining a part of thiswork or any other work associated withProject Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform,distribute or redistribute thiselectronic work, or any part of thiselectronic work, withoutprominently displaying the sentence setforth in paragraph 1.E.1 withactive links or immediate access to thefull terms of the ProjectGutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distributethis work in any binary,compressed, marked up, nonproprietary orproprietary form, including anyword processing or hypertext form.However, if you provide access to ordistribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format usedin the official version

posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.net),you must, at no additional cost, fee orexpense to the user, provide acopy, a means of exporting a copy, or ameans of obtaining a copy uponrequest, of the work in its original"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or otherform. Any alternate format must includethe full Project Gutenberg-tmLicense as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to,viewing, displaying,performing, copying or distributing anyProject Gutenberg-tm worksunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee forcopies of or providingaccess to or distributing ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works providedthat

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of thegross profits you derive from

the use of Project Gutenberg-tm workscalculated using the methodyou already use to calculate yourapplicable taxes. The fee isowed to the owner of the ProjectGutenberg-tm trademark, but hehas agreed to donate royalties under thisparagraph to theProject Gutenberg Literary ArchiveFoundation. Royalty paymentsmust be paid within 60 days following eachdate on which youprepare (or are legally required toprepare) your periodic taxreturns. Royalty payments should beclearly marked as such andsent to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation at theaddress specified in Section 4,"Information about donations tothe Project Gutenberg Literary ArchiveFoundation."

- You provide a full refund of any moneypaid by a user who notifiesyou in writing (or by e-mail) within 30days of receipt that s/he

does not agree to the terms of the fullProject Gutenberg-tmLicense. You must require such a user toreturn ordestroy all copies of the works possessedin a physical mediumand discontinue all use of and all accessto other copies ofProject Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance withparagraph 1.F.3, a full refund of anymoney paid for a work or a replacementcopy, if a defect in theelectronic work is discovered and reportedto you within 90 daysof receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of thisagreement for freedistribution of Project Gutenberg-tmworks.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee ordistribute a Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic work or group of works ondifferent terms than are set

forth in this agreement, you must obtainpermission in writing fromboth the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation and MichaelHart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact theFoundation as set forth in Section 3below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers andemployees expend considerableeffort to identify, do copyright researchon, transcribe and proofreadpublic domain works in creating theProject Gutenberg-tmcollection. Despite these efforts, ProjectGutenberg-tm electronicworks, and the medium on which they may bestored, may contain"Defects," such as, but not limited to,incomplete, inaccurate orcorrupt data, transcription errors, acopyright or other intellectualproperty infringement, a defective ordamaged disk or other medium, a

computer virus, or computer codes thatdamage or cannot be read byyour equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OFDAMAGES - Except for the "Rightof Replacement or Refund" described inparagraph 1.F.3, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, theowner of the ProjectGutenberg-tm trademark, and any otherparty distributing a ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic work under thisagreement, disclaim allliability to you for damages, costs andexpenses, including legalfees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIESFOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICTLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OFCONTRACT EXCEPT THOSEPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THATTHE FOUNDATION, THETRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDERTHIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BELIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT,INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE ORINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE

OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCHDAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT ORREFUND - If you discover adefect in this electronic work within 90days of receiving it, you canreceive a refund of the money (if any) youpaid for it by sending awritten explanation to the person youreceived the work from. If youreceived the work on a physical medium,you must return the medium withyour written explanation. The person orentity that provided you withthe defective work may elect to provide areplacement copy in lieu of arefund. If you received the workelectronically, the person or entityproviding it to you may choose to give youa second opportunity toreceive the work electronically in lieu ofa refund. If the second copyis also defective, you may demand a refundin writing without furtheropportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right ofreplacement or refund set forthin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is providedto you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHERWARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS ORIMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TOWARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESSFOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allowdisclaimers of certain impliedwarranties or the exclusion or limitationof certain types of damages.If any disclaimer or limitation set forthin this agreement violates thelaw of the state applicable to thisagreement, the agreement shall beinterpreted to make the maximum disclaimeror limitation permitted bythe applicable state law. The invalidityor unenforceability of anyprovision of this agreement shall not voidthe remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnifyand hold the Foundation, thetrademark owner, any agent or employee of

the Foundation, anyoneproviding copies of Project Gutenberg-tmelectronic works in accordancewith this agreement, and any volunteersassociated with the production,promotion and distribution of ProjectGutenberg-tm electronic works,harmless from all liability, costs andexpenses, including legal fees,that arise directly or indirectly from anyof the following which you door cause to occur: (a) distribution ofthis or any Project Gutenberg-tmwork, (b) alteration, modification, oradditions or deletions to anyProject Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) anyDefect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Missionof Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous withthe free distribution ofelectronic works in formats readable bythe widest variety of computersincluding obsolete, old, middle-aged and

new computers. It existsbecause of the efforts of hundreds ofvolunteers and donations frompeople in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support toprovide volunteers with theassistance they need, is critical toreaching Project Gutenberg-tm'sgoals and ensuring that the ProjectGutenberg-tm collection willremain freely available for generations tocome. In 2001, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation wascreated to provide a secureand permanent future for ProjectGutenberg-tm and future generations.To learn more about the Project GutenbergLiterary Archive Foundationand how your efforts and donations canhelp, see Sections 3 and 4and the Foundation web page athttp://www.pglaf.org.

Section 3. Information about the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive

Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary ArchiveFoundation is a non profit501(c)(3) educational corporationorganized under the laws of thestate of Mississippi and granted taxexempt status by the InternalRevenue Service. The Foundation's EIN orfederal tax identificationnumber is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letteris posted athttp://pglaf.org/fundraising.Contributions to the Project GutenbergLiterary Archive Foundation are taxdeductible to the full extentpermitted by U.S. federal laws and yourstate's laws.

The Foundation's principal office islocated at 4557 Melan Dr. S.Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteersand employees are scatteredthroughout numerous locations. Itsbusiness office is located at809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT84116, (801) 596-1887, email

business@pglaf.org. Email contact linksand up to date contactinformation can be found at theFoundation's web site and officialpage at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:Dr. Gregory B. NewbyChief Executive and Directorgbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4. Information about Donations tothe Project GutenbergLiterary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon andcannot survive without widespread public support and donations tocarry out its mission ofincreasing the number of public domain andlicensed works that can befreely distributed in machine readableform accessible by the widestarray of equipment including outdatedequipment. Many small donations($1 to $5,000) are particularly important

to maintaining tax exemptstatus with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complyingwith the laws regulatingcharities and charitable donations in all50 states of the UnitedStates. Compliance requirements are notuniform and it takes aconsiderable effort, much paperwork andmany fees to meet and keep upwith these requirements. We do not solicitdonations in locationswhere we have not received writtenconfirmation of compliance. ToSEND DONATIONS or determine the status ofcompliance for anyparticular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicitcontributions from states where wehave not met the solicitationrequirements, we know of no prohibitionagainst accepting unsolicited donationsfrom donors in such states whoapproach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefullyaccepted, but we cannot makeany statements concerning tax treatment ofdonations received fromoutside the United States. U.S. laws aloneswamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Webpages for current donationmethods and addresses. Donations areaccepted in a number of otherways including including checks, onlinepayments and credit carddonations. To donate, please visit:http://pglaf.org/donate

Section 5. General Information AboutProject Gutenberg-tm electronicworks.

Professor Michael S. Hart is theoriginator of the Project Gutenberg-tmconcept of a library of electronic worksthat could be freely sharedwith anyone. For thirty years, he producedand distributed Project

Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loosenetwork of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are oftencreated from several printededitions, all of which are confirmed asPublic Domain in the U.S.unless a copyright notice is included.Thus, we do not necessarilykeep eBooks in compliance with anyparticular paper edition.

Most people start at our Web site whichhas the main PG search facility:

http://www.gutenberg.net

This Web site includes information aboutProject Gutenberg-tm,including how to make donations to theProject Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation, how to help produceour new eBooks, and how tosubscribe to our email newsletter to hearabout new eBooks.