WHEN A MAN'SA MAN

BYHAROLD BELL WRIGHT

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORKBy arrangement with D. Appleton-Century Co. 

1916

TO MY SONSGILBERT AND PAUL NORMANTHIS STORY OF MANHOODIS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATEDBY THEIR FATHER

_Acknowledgment_

It is fitting that I should here express my indebtedness to thoseWilliamson Valley friends who in the kindness of their hearts made thisstory possible. 

To Mr. George A. Carter, who so generously introduced me to the scenesdescribed in these pages, and who, on the Pot-Hook-S ranch, gave to myfamily one of the most delightful summers we have ever enjoyed; to Mr. J. H. Stephens and his family, who so cordially welcomed me at rodeotime; to Mr. And Mrs. Joe Contreras, for their kindly hospitality; toMr. And Mrs. J. W. Stewart, who, while this story was first in themaking, made me so much at home in the Cross-Triangle home-ranch; to Mr. J. W. Cook, my constant companion, helpful guide, patient teacher andtactful sponsor, who, with his charming wife, made his home mine; to Mr. And Mrs. Herbert N. Cook, and to the many other cattlemen and cowboys, with whom, on the range, in the rodeos, in the wild horse chase aboutToohey, after outlaw cattle in Granite Basin, in the corrals andpastures, I rode and worked and lived, my gratitude is more than I canput in words. Truer friends or better companions than thesegreat-hearted, outspoken, hardy riders, no man could have. If my storyin any degree wins the approval of these, my comrades of ranch andrange. I shall be proud and happy. H. B. W. 

 "CAMP HOLE-IN-THE-MOUNTAIN" NEAR TUCSON, ARIZONA APRIL 29, 1916

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. AFTER THE CELEBRATION 11 II. ON THE DIVIDE 23 III. IN THE BIG PASTURE 35 IV. AT THE CORRAL 47 V. A BIT OF THE PAST 81 VI. THE DRIFT FENCE 91 VII. THINGS THAT ENDURE 115VIII. CONCERNING BRANDS 133 IX. THE TAILHOLT MOUNTAIN OUTFIT 159 X. THE RODEO 181 XI. AFTER THE RODEO 197 XII. FRONTIER DAY 239XIII. IN GRANITE BASIN 261 XIV. AT MINT SPRING 281 XV. ON CEDAR RIDGE 297 XVI. THE SKY LINE 323

[Illustration: WHEN A MAN'S A MAN]

CHAPTER I. 

AFTER THE CELEBRATION. 

There is a land where a man, to live, must be a man. It is a land ofgranite and marble and porphyry and gold--and a man's strength must beas the strength of the primeval hills. It is a land of oaks and cedarsand pines--and a man's mental grace must be as the grace of the untamedtrees. It is a land of far-arched and unstained skies, where the windsweeps free and untainted, and the atmosphere is the atmosphere of thoseplaces that remain as God made them--and a man's soul must be as theunstained skies, the unburdened wind, and the untainted atmosphere. Itis a land of wide mesas, of wild, rolling pastures and broad, untilled, valley meadows--and a man's freedom must be that freedom which is notbounded by the fences of a too weak and timid conventionalism. 

In this land every man is--by divine right--his own king; he is his ownjury, his own counsel, his own judge, and--if it must be--his ownexecutioner. And in this land where a man, to live, must be a man, awoman, if she be not a woman, must surely perish. 

This is the story of a man who regained that which in his youth had beenlost to him; and of how, even when he had recovered that which had beentaken from him, he still paid the price of his loss. It is the story ofa woman who was saved from herself; and of how she was led to hold fastto those things, the loss of which cost the man so great a price. 

The story, as I have put it down here, begins at Prescott, Arizona, onthe day following the annual Fourth-of-July celebration in one of thosefar-western years that saw the passing of the Indian and the coming ofthe automobile. 

The man was walking along one of the few roads that lead out from thelittle city, through the mountain gaps and passes, to the wide, unfencedranges, and to the lonely scattered ranches on the creeks and flats andvalleys of the great open country that lies beyond. 

From the fact that he was walking in that land where the distances aresuch that men most commonly ride, and from the many marks thatenvironment and training leave upon us all, it was evident that thepedestrian was a stranger. He was a man in the prime of youngmanhood--tall and exceedingly well proportioned--and as he went forwardalong the dusty road he bore himself with the unconscious air of onemore accustomed to crowded streets than to that rude and unpavedhighway. His clothing bore the unmistakable stamp of a tailor of rank. His person was groomed with that nicety of detail that is permitted onlyto those who possess both means and leisure, as well as taste. It wasevident, too, from his movement and bearing, that he had not sought themile-high atmosphere of Prescott with the hope that it holds out tothose in need of health. But, still, there was a something about himthat suggested a lack of the manly vigor and strength that should havebeen his. 

A student of men would have said that Nature made this man to be inphysical strength and spiritual prowess, a comrade and leader of men--aman's man--a man among men. The same student, looking more closely, might have added that in some way--through some cruel trick offortune--this man had been cheated of his birthright. 

The day was still young when the stranger gained the top of the firsthill where the road turns to make its steep and winding way down throughscattered pines and scrub oak to the Burnt Ranch. 

Behind him the little city--so picturesque in its mountain basin, withthe wild, unfenced land coming down to its very dooryards--was slowlyawakening after the last mad night of its celebration. The tents of thetawdry shows that had tempted the crowds with vulgar indecencies, andthe booths that had sheltered the petty games of chance whereloud-voiced criers had persuaded the multitude with the hope of winninga worthless bauble or a tinsel toy, were being cleared away from theborders of the plaza, the beauty of which their presence had marred. Inthe plaza itself--which is the heart of the town, and is usually keptwith much pride and care--the bronze statue of the vigorous Rough RiderBucky O'Neil and his spirited charger seemed pathetically out of placeamong the litter of colored confetti and exploded fireworks, and therefuse from various "treats" and lunches left by the celebratingcitizens and their guests. The flags and bunting that from window androof and pole and doorway had given the day its gay note of color hungfaded and listless, as though, spent with their gaiety, and mutelyconscious that the spirit and purpose of their gladness was past, theywaited the hand that would remove them to the ash barrel and the rubbishheap. 

Pausing, the man turned to look back. 

For some minutes he stood as one who, while determined upon a certaincourse, yet hesitates--reluctant and regretful--at the beginning of hisventure. Then he went on; walking with a certain reckless swing, asthough, in ignorance of that land toward which he had set his face, hestill resolutely turned his back upon that which lay behind. It was asthough, for this man, too, the gala day, with its tinseled bravery andits confetti spirit, was of the past. 

A short way down the hill the man stopped again. This time to stand halfturned, with his head in a listening attitude. The sound of a vehicleapproaching from the way whence he had come had reached his ear. 

As the noise of wheels and hoofs grew louder a strange expression ofmingled uncertainty, determination, and something very like fear cameover his face. He started forward, hesitated, looked back, then turneddoubtfully toward the thinly wooded mountain side. Then, with tardydecision he left the road and disappeared behind a clump of oak bushes, an instant before a team and buckboard rounded the turn and appeared infull view. 

An unmistakable cattleman--grizzly-haired, square-shouldered andsubstantial--was driving the wild looking team. Beside him sat amotherly woman and a little boy. 

As they passed the clump of bushes the near horse of the half-brokenpair gave a catlike bound to the right against his tracemate. A secondjump followed the first with flash-like quickness; and this time thefrightened animal was accompanied by his companion, who, not knowingwhat it was all about, jumped on general principles. But, quick as theywere, the strength of the driver's skillful arms met their weight on thereins and forced them to keep the road. 

"You blamed fools"--the driver chided good-naturedly, as they plungedahead--"been raised on a cow ranch to get scared at a calf in thebrush!"

Very slowly the stranger came from behind the bushes. Cautiously hereturned to the road. His fine lips curled in a curious mocking smile. But it was himself that he mocked, for there was a look in his dark eyesthat gave to his naturally strong face an almost pathetic expression ofself-depreciation and shame. 

As the pedestrian crossed the creek at the Burnt Ranch, Joe Conley, leading a horse by a riata which was looped as it had fallen about theanimal's neck, came through the big corral gate across the road fromthe house. At the barn Joe disappeared through the small door of thesaddle room, the coil of the riata still in his hand, thus compellinghis mount to await his return. 

At sight of the cowboy the stranger again paused and stood hesitating inindecision. But as Joe reappeared from the barn with bridle, saddleblanket and saddle in hand, the man went reluctantly forward as thoughprompted by some necessity. 

"Good morning!" said the stranger, courteously, and his voice was thevoice that fitted his dress and bearing, while his face was now thecarefully schooled countenance of a man world-trained and well-poised. 

With a quick estimating glance Joe returned the stranger's greeting and, dropping the saddle and blanket on the ground, approached his horse'shead. Instantly the animal sprang back, with head high and eyes defiant;but there was no escape, for the rawhide riata was still securely heldby his master. There was a short, sharp scuffle that sent the gravel bythe roadside flying--the controlling bit was between the reluctantteeth--and the cowboy, who had silently taken the horse's objection as amatter of course, adjusted the blanket, and with the easy skill of longpractice swung the heavy saddle to its place. 

As the cowboy caught the dangling cinch, and with a deft hand tucked thelatigo strap through the ring and drew it tight, there was a look ofalmost pathetic wistfulness on the watching stranger's face--a look ofwistfulness and admiration and envy. 

Dropping the stirrup, Joe again faced the stranger, this timeinquiringly, with that bold, straightforward look so characteristic ofhis kind. 

And now, when the man spoke, his voice had a curious note, as if thespeaker had lost a little of his poise. It was almost a note of apology, and again in his eyes there was that pitiful look of self-depreciationand shame. 

"Pardon me, " he said, "but will you tell me, please, am I right thatthis is the road to the Williamson Valley?"

The stranger's manner and voice were in such contrast to his generalappearance that the cowboy frankly looked his wonder as he answeredcourteously, "Yes, sir. "

"And it will take me direct to the Cross-Triangle Ranch?"

"If you keep straight ahead across the valley, it will. If you take theright-hand fork on the ridge above the goat ranch, it will take you toSimmons. There's a road from Simmons to the Cross-Triangle on the farside of the valley, though. You can see the valley and theCross-Triangle home ranch from the top of the Divide. "

"Thank you. "

The stranger was turning to go when the man in the blue jumper andfringed leather chaps spoke again, curiously. 

"The Dean with Stella and Little Billy passed in the buckboard less thanan hour ago, on their way home from the celebration. Funny they didn'tpick you up, if you're goin' there!"

The other paused questioningly. "The Dean?"

The cowboy smiled. "Mr. Baldwin, the owner of the Cross-Triangle, youknow. "

"Oh!" The stranger was clearly embarrassed. Perhaps he was thinking ofthat clump of bushes on the mountain side. 

Joe, loosing his riata from the horse's neck, and coiling it carefully, considered a moment. Then: "You ain't goin' to walk to theCross-Triangle, be you?"

That self-mocking smile touched the man's lips; but there was a hint ofdecisive purpose in his voice as he answered, "Oh, yes. "

Again the cowboy frankly measured the stranger. Then he moved toward thecorral gate, the coiled riata in one hand, the bridle rein in the other. "I'll catch up a horse for you, " he said in a matter-of-fact tone, as ifreaching a decision. 

The other spoke hastily. "No, no, please don't trouble. "

Joe paused curiously. "Any friend of Mr. Baldwin's is welcome toanything on the Burnt Ranch, Stranger. "

"But I--ah--I--have never met Mr. Baldwin, " explained the other lamely. 

"Oh, that's all right, " returned the cowboy heartily. "You're a-goin'to, an' that's the same thing. " Again he started toward the gate. 

"But I--pardon me--you are very kind--but I--I prefer to walk. "

Once more Joe halted, a puzzled expression on his tanned andweather-beaten face. "I suppose you know it's some walk, " he suggesteddoubtfully, as if the man's ignorance were the only possible solution ofhis unheard-of assertion. 

"So I understand. But it will be good for me. Really, I prefer to walk. "

Without a word the cowboy turned back to his horse, and proceededmethodically to tie the coiled riata in its place on the saddle. Then, without a glance toward the stranger who stood watching him inembarrassed silence, he threw the bridle reins over his horse's head, gripped the saddle horn and swung to his seat, reining his horse awayfrom the man beside the road. 

The stranger, thus abruptly dismissed, moved hurriedly away. 

Half way to the creek the cowboy checked his horse and looked back atthe pedestrian as the latter was making his way under the pines and upthe hill. When the man had disappeared over the crest of the hill, thecowboy muttered a bewildered something, and, touching his horse with thespurs, loped away, as if dismissing a problem too complex for his simplemind. 

All that day the stranger followed the dusty, unfenced road. Over hishead the wide, bright sky was without a cloud to break its vast expanse. On the great, open range of mountain, flat and valley the cattle layquietly in the shade of oak or walnut or cedar, or, with slow, listlessmovement, sought the watering places to slake their thirst. The wildthings retreated to their secret hiding places in rocky den and leafythicket to await the cool of the evening hunting hour. The very air wasmotionless, as if the never-tired wind itself drowsed indolently. 

And alone in the hushed bigness of that land the man walked with histhoughts--brooding, perhaps, over whatever it was that had so strangelyplaced him there--dreaming, it may be, over that which might have been, or that which yet might be--viewing with questioning, wondering, half-fearful eyes the mighty, untamed scenes that met his eye on everyhand. Nor did anyone see him, for at every sound of approaching horse orvehicle he went aside from the highway to hide in the bushes or behindconvenient rocks. And always when he came from his hiding place toresume his journey that odd smile of self-mockery was on his face. 

At noon he rested for a little beside the road while he ate a meagersandwich that he took from the pocket of his coat. Then he pushed onagain, with grim determination, deeper and deeper into the heart andlife of that world which was, to him, so evidently new and strange. Theafternoon was well spent when he made his way--wearily now, withdrooping shoulders and dragging step--up the long slope of the Dividethat marks the eastern boundary of the range about Williamson Valley. 

At the summit, where the road turns sharply around a shoulder of themountain and begins the steep descent on the other side of the ridge, hestopped. His tired form straightened. His face lighted with a look ofwondering awe, and an involuntary exclamation came from his lips as hisunaccustomed eyes swept the wide view that lay from his feet unrolledbefore him. 

Under that sky, so unmatched in its clearness and depth of color, theland lay in all its variety of valley and forest and mesa andmountain--a scene unrivaled in the magnificence and grandeur of itsbeauty. Miles upon miles in the distance, across those primeval reaches, the faint blue peaks and domes and ridges of the mountains ranked--anuncounted sentinel host. The darker masses of the timbered hillsides, with the varying shades of pine and cedar, the lighter tints of oakbrush and chaparral, the dun tones of the open grass lands, and thebrighter note of the valley meadows' green were defined, blended andharmonized by the overlying haze with a delicacy exquisite beyond allhuman power to picture. And in the nearer distances, chief of that armyof mountain peaks, and master of the many miles that lie within theircircle, Granite Mountain, gray and grim, reared its mighty bulk of cliffand crag as if in supreme defiance of the changing years or the hand ofhumankind. 

In the heart of that beautiful land upon which, from the summit of theDivide, the stranger looked with such rapt appreciation, lies WilliamsonValley, a natural meadow of lush, dark green, native grass. And, had theman's eyes been trained to such distances, he might have distinguishedin the blue haze the red roofs of the buildings of the Cross-TriangleRanch. 

For some time the man stood there, a lonely figure against the sky, peculiarly out of place in his careful garb of the cities. The schooledindifference of his face was broken. His self-depreciation and mockerywere forgotten. His dark eyes glowed with the fire of excitedanticipation--with hope and determined purpose. Then, with a quickmovement, as though some ghost of the past had touched him on theshoulder, he looked back on the way he had come. And the light in hiseyes went out in the gloom of painful memories. His countenance, unguarded because of his day of loneliness, grew dark with sadness andshame. It was as though he looked beyond the town he had left thatmorning, with its litter and refuse of yesterday's pleasure, to a lifeand a world of tawdry shams, wherein men give themselves to win by meansfair or foul the tinsel baubles that are offered in the world's pettygames of chance. 

And yet, even as he looked back, there was in the man's face as much oflonging as of regret. He seemed as one who, realizing that he hadreached a point in his life journey--a divide, as it were--from which hecould see two ways, was resolved to turn from the path he longed tofollow and to take the road that appealed to him the least. As oneenlisting to fight in a just and worthy cause might pause a moment, before taking the oath of service, to regret the ease and freedom he wasabout to surrender, so this man paused on the summit of the Divide. 

Slowly, at last, in weariness of body and spirit, he stumbled a few feetaside from the road, and, sinking down upon a convenient rock, gavehimself again to the contemplation of that scene which lay before him. And there was that in his movement now that seemed to tell of one who, in the grip of some bitter and disappointing experience, was yet beingforced by something deep in his being to reach out in the strength ofhis manhood to take that which he had been denied. 

Again the man's untrained eyes had failed to note that which would havefirst attracted the attention of one schooled in the land that lay abouthim. He had not seen a tiny moving speck on the road over which he hadpassed. A horseman was riding toward him. 

CHAPTER II. 

ON THE DIVIDE. 

Had the man on the Divide noticed the approaching horseman it would havebeen evident, even to one so unacquainted with the country as thestranger, that the rider belonged to that land of riders. While still ata distance too great for the eye to distinguish the details of fringedleather chaps, soft shirt, short jumper, sombrero, spurs and riata, noone could have mistaken the ease and grace of the cowboy who seemed soliterally a part of his horse. His seat in the saddle was so secure, soeasy, and his bearing so unaffected and natural, that every movement ofthe powerful animal he rode expressed itself rhythmically in his ownlithe and sinewy body. 

While the stranger sat wrapped in meditative thought, unheeding theapproach of the rider, the horseman, coming on with a long, swinginglope, watched the motionless figure on the summit of the Divide withcareful interest. As he drew nearer the cowboy pulled his horse down toa walk, and from under his broad hat brim regarded the strangerintently. He was within a few yards of the point where the man sat whenthe latter caught the sound of the horse's feet, and, with a quick, startled look over his shoulder, sprang up and started as if to escape. But it was too late, and, as though on second thought, he whirled aboutwith a half defiant air to face the intruder. 

The horseman stopped. He had not missed the significance of that hurriedmovement, and his right hand rested carelessly on his leather cladthigh, while his grey eyes were fixed boldly, inquiringly, almostchallengingly, on the man he had so unintentionally surprised. 

As he sat there on his horse, so alert, so ready, in his cowboy garb andtrappings, against the background of Granite Mountain, with all itsrugged, primeval strength, the rider made a striking picture of virilemanhood. Of some years less than thirty, he was, perhaps, neither astall nor as heavy as the stranger; but in spite of a certain boyish lookon his smooth-shaven, deeply-bronzed face, he bore himself with theunmistakable air of a matured and self-reliant man. Every nerve andfiber of him seemed alive with that vital energy which is the truebeauty and the glory of life. 

The two men presented a striking contrast. Without question one was theproud and finished product of our most advanced civilization. It was asevident that the splendid manhood of the other had never been dwarfed bythe weakening atmosphere of an over-cultured, too conventional and toocomplex environment. The stranger with his carefully tailored clothingand his man-of-the-world face and bearing was as unlike this rider ofthe unfenced lands as a daintily groomed thoroughbred from thesheltered and guarded stables of fashion is unlike a wild, untamedstallion from the hills and ranges about Granite Mountain. Yet, unlikeas they were, there was a something that marked them as kin. The man ofthe ranges and the man of the cities were, deep beneath the surface oftheir beings, as like as the spirited thoroughbred and the unbroken wildhorse. The cowboy was all that the stranger might have been. Thestranger was all that the cowboy, under like conditions, would havebeen. 

As they silently faced each other it seemed for a moment that eachinstinctively recognized this kinship. Then into the dark eyes of thestranger--as when he had watched the cowboy at the Burnt Ranch--therecame that look of wistful admiration and envy. 

And at this, as if the man had somehow made himself known, the horsemanrelaxed his attitude of tense readiness. The hand that had held thebridle rein to command instant action of his horse, and the hand thathad rested so near the rider's hip, came together on the saddle horn incareless ease, while a boyish smile of amusement broke over the youngman's face. 

That smile brought a flash of resentment into the eyes of the other anda flush of red darkened his untanned cheeks. A moment he stood; thenwith an air of haughty rebuke he deliberately turned his back, and, seating himself again, looked away over the landscape. 

But the smiling cowboy did not move. For a moment as he regarded thestranger his shoulders shook with silent, contemptuous laughter; thenhis face became grave, and he looked a little ashamed. The minutespassed, and still he sat there, quietly waiting. 

Presently, as if yielding to the persistent, silent presence of thehorseman, and submitting reluctantly to the intrusion, the other turned, and again the two who were so like and yet so unlike faced each other. 

It was the stranger now who smiled. But it was a smile that caused thecowboy to become on the instant kindly considerate. Perhaps heremembered one of the Dean's favorite sayings: "Keep your eye on the manwho laughs when he's hurt. "

"Good evening!" said the stranger doubtfully, but with a hint ofconscious superiority in his manner. 

"Howdy!" returned the cowboy heartily, and in his deep voice was thekindliness that made him so loved by all who knew him. "Been having sometrouble?"

"If I have, it is my own, sir, " retorted the other coldly. 

"Sure, " returned the horseman gently, "and you're welcome to it. Everyman has all he needs of his own, I reckon. But I didn't mean it thatway; I meant your horse. "

The stranger looked at him questioningly. "Beg pardon?" he said. 

"What?"

"I do not understand. "

"Your horse--where is your horse?"

"Oh, yes! Certainly--of course--my horse--how stupid of me!" The tone ofthe man's answer was one of half apology, and he was smiling whimsicallynow as if at his own predicament, as he continued. "I have no horse. Really, you know, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I had it. "

"You don't mean to say that you drifted all the way out here fromPrescott on foot!" exclaimed the astonished cowboy. 

The man on the ground looked up at the horseman, and in a droll tonethat made the rider his friend, said, while he stretched his long legspainfully: "I like to walk. You see I--ah--fancied it would be good forme, don't you know. "

The cowboy laughingly considered--trying, as he said afterward, tofigure it out. It was clear that this tall stranger was not in search ofhealth, nor did he show any of the distinguishing marks of the tourist. He certainly appeared to be a man of means. He could not be looking forwork. He did not seem a suspicious character--quite the contrary--andyet--there was that significant hurried movement as if to escape whenthe horseman had surprised him. The etiquette of the country forbade adirect question, but--

"Yes, " he agreed thoughtfully, "walking comes in handy sometimes. Idon't take to it much myself, though. " Then he added shrewdly, "You wereat the celebration, I reckon. "

The stranger's voice betrayed quick enthusiasm, but that odd wistfulnesscrept into his eyes again and he seemed to lose a little of his poise. 

"Indeed I was, " he said. "I never saw anything to compare with it. I'veseen all kinds of athletic sports and contests and exhibitions, withcircus performances and riding, and that sort of thing, you know, andI've read about such things, of course, but"--and his voice grewthoughtful--"that men ever actually did them--and all in the day'swork, as you may say--I--I never dreamed that there _were_ men like thatin these days. "

The cowboy shifted his weight uneasily in the saddle, while he regardedthe man on the ground curiously. "She was sure a humdinger of acelebration, " he admitted, "but as for the show part I've seen thingshappen when nobody was thinking anything about it that would make thosestunts at Prescott look funny. The horse racing was pretty good, though, " he finished, with suggestive emphasis. 

The other did not miss the point of the suggestion. "I didn't bet onanything, " he laughed. 

"It's funny nobody picked you up on the road out here, " the cowboy nextoffered pointedly. "The folks started home early this morning--and JimReid and his family passed me about an hour ago--they were in anautomobile. The Simmons stage must have caught up with you somewhere. "

The stranger's face flushed, and he seemed trying to find some answer. 

The cowboy watched him curiously; then in a musing tone added thesuggestion, "Some lonesome up here on foot. "

"But there are times, you know, " returned the other desperately, "when aman prefers to be alone. "

The cowboy straightened in his saddle and lifted his reins. "Thanks, " hesaid dryly, "I reckon I'd better be moving. "

But the other spoke quickly. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton, I did notmean that for you. "

The horseman dropped his hands again to the saddle horn, and resumed hislounging posture, thus tacitly accepting the apology. "You have theadvantage of me, " he said. 

The stranger laughed. "Everyone knows that 'Wild Horse Phil' of theCross-Triangle Ranch won the bronco-riding championship yesterday. I sawyou ride. "

Philip Acton's face showed boyish embarrassment. 

The other continued, with his strange enthusiasm. "It was greatwork--wonderful! I never saw anything like it. "

There was no mistaking the genuineness of his admiration, nor could hehide that wistful look in his eyes. 

"Shucks!" said the cowboy uneasily. "I could pick a dozen of the boys inthat outfit who can ride all around me. It was just my luck, that'sall--I happened to draw an easy one. "

"Easy!" ejaculated the stranger, seeing again in his mind the fighting, plunging, maddened, outlawed brute that this boy-faced man had mastered. "And I suppose catching and throwing those steers was easy, too?"

The cowboy was plainly wondering at the man's peculiar enthusiasm forthese most commonplace things. "The roping? Why, that was no more thanwe're doing all the time. "

"I don't mean the roping, " returned the other, "I mean when you rode upbeside one of those steers that was running at full speed, and caughthim by the horns with your bare hands, and jumped from your saddle, andthrew the beast over you, and then lay there with his horns pinning youdown! You aren't doing that all the time, are you? You don't mean totell me that such things as that are a part of your everyday work!"

"Oh, the bull doggin'! Why, no, " admitted Phil, with an embarrassedlaugh, "that was just fun, you know. "

The stranger stared at him, speechless. Fun! In the name of all that ismost modern in civilization, what manner of men were these who did suchthings in fun! If this was their recreation, what must their work be!

"Do you mind my asking, " he said wistfully, "how you learned to do suchthings?"

"Why, I don't know--we just do them, I reckon. "

"And could anyone learn to ride as you ride, do you think?" The questioncame with marked eagerness. 

"I don't see why not, " answered the cowboy honestly. 

The stranger shook his head doubtfully and looked away over the wildland where the shadows of the late afternoon were lengthening. 

"Where are you going to stop to-night?" Phil Acton asked suddenly. 

The stranger did not take his eyes from the view that seemed to hold forhim such peculiar interest. "Really, " he answered indifferently, "I hadnot thought of that. "

"I should think you'd be thinking of it along about supper time, ifyou've walked from town since morning. "

The stranger looked up with sudden interest; but the cowboy fancied thatthere was a touch of bitterness under the droll tone of his reply. "Doyou know, Mr. Acton, I have never been really hungry in my life. Itmight be interesting to try it once, don't you think?"

Phil Acton laughed, as he returned, "It might be interesting, all right, but I think I better tell you, just the same, that there's a ranch downyonder in the timber. It's nothing but a goat ranch, but I reckon theywould take you in. It's too far to the Cross-Triangle for me to ask youthere. You can see the buildings, though, from here. "

The stranger sprang up in quick interest. "You can? The Cross-TriangleRanch?"

"Sure, " the cowboy smiled and pointed into the distance. "Those redspots over there are the roofs. Jim Reid's place--the Pot-Hook-S--isjust this side of the meadows, and a little to the south. The old Actonhomestead--where I was born--is in that bunch of cottonwoods, across thewash from the Cross-Triangle. "

But strive as he might the stranger's eyes could discern no sign ofhuman habitation in those vast reaches that lay before him. 

"If you are ever over that way, drop in, " said Phil cordially. "Mr. Baldwin will be glad to meet you. "

"Do you really mean that?" questioned the other doubtfully. 

"We don't say such things in this country if we don't mean them, Stranger, " was the cool retort. 

"Of course, I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton, " came the confused reply. "Ishould like to see the ranch. I may--I will--That is, if I--" He stoppedas if not knowing how to finish, and with a gesture of hopelessnessturned away to stand silently looking back toward the town, while hisface was dark with painful memories, and his lips curved in thatmirthless, self-mocking smile. 

And Philip Acton, seeing, felt suddenly that he had rudely intruded uponthe privacy of one who had sought the solitude of that lonely place tohide the hurt of some bitter experience. A certain native gentlenessmade the man of the ranges understand that this stranger was face toface with some crisis in his life--that he was passing through one ofthose trials through which a man must pass alone. Had it been possiblethe cowboy would have apologized. But that would have been an addedunkindness. Lifting the reins and sitting erect in the saddle, he saidindifferently, "Well, I must be moving. I take a short cut here. Solong! Better make it on down to the goat ranch--it's not far. "

He touched his horse with the spur and the animal sprang away. 

"Good-bye!" called the stranger, and that wistful look was in his eyesas the rider swung his horse aside from the road, plunged down themountain side, and dashed away through the brush and over the rocks withreckless speed. With a low exclamation of wondering admiration, the manclimbed hastily to a higher point, and from there watched until horseand rider, taking a steeper declivity without checking their breakneckcourse, dropped from sight in a cloud of dust. The faint sound of thesliding rocks and gravel dislodged by the flying feet died away; thecloud of dust dissolved in the thin air. The stranger looked away intothe blue distance in another vain attempt to see the red spots thatmarked the Cross-Triangle Ranch. 

Slowly the man returned to his seat on the rock. The long shadows ofGranite Mountain crept out from the base of the cliffs farther andfarther over the country below. The blue of the distant hills changed tomauve with deeper masses of purple in the shadows where the canyons are. The lonely figure on the summit of the Divide did not move. 

The sun hid itself behind the line of mountains, and the blue of the skyin the west changed slowly to gold against which the peaks and domes andpoints were silhouetted as if cut by a graver's tool, and the boldcliffs and battlements of old Granite grew coldly gray in the gloom. Asthe night came on and the details of its structure were lost, themountain, to the watching man on the Divide, assumed the appearance of amighty fortress--a fortress, he thought, to which a generation of menmight retreat from a civilization that threatened them with destruction;and once more the man faced back the way he had come. 

The far-away cities were already in the blaze of their own artificiallights--lights valued not for their power to make men see, but for theirpower to dazzle, attract and intoxicate--lights that permitted no kindlydusk at eventide wherein a man might rest from his day's work--a quiethour; lights that revealed squalid shame and tinsel show--lights thathid the stars. The man on the Divide lifted his face to the stars thatnow in the wide-arched sky were gathering in such unnumbered multitudesto keep their sentinel watch over the world below. 

The cool evening wind came whispering over the lonely land, and all thefurred and winged creatures of the night stole from their dark hidingplaces into the gloom which is the beginning of their day. A coyotecrept stealthily past in the dark and from the mountain side below camethe weird, ghostly call of its mate. An owl drifted by on silent wings. Night birds chirped in the chaparral. A fox barked on the ridge above. The shadowy form of a bat flitted here and there. From somewhere in thedistance a bull bellowed his deep-voiced challenge. 

Suddenly the man on the summit of the Divide sprang to his feet and, with a gesture that had he not been so alone might have seemedaffectedly dramatic, stretched out his arms in an attitude of wistfullonging while his lips moved as if, again and again, he whispered aname. 

CHAPTER III. 

IN THE BIG PASTURE. 

In the Williamson Valley country the spring round-up, or "rodeo, " as itis called in Arizona, and the shipping are well over by the last ofJune. During the long summer weeks, until the beginning of the fallrodeo in September, there is little for the riders to do. The cattleroam free on the open ranges, while calves grow into yearlings, yearlings become two-year-olds, and two-year-olds mature for the market. On the Cross-Triangle and similar ranches, three or four of the steadieryear-round hands only are held. These repair and build fences, visit thewatering places, brand an occasional calf that somehow has managed toescape the dragnet of the rodeo, and with "dope bottle" ever at handdoctor such animals as are afflicted with screwworms. It is during theseweeks, too, that the horses are broken; for, with the hard and dangerouswork of the fall and spring months, there is always need for freshmounts. 

The horses of the Cross-Triangle were never permitted to run on the openrange. Because the leaders of the numerous bands of wild horses thatroamed over the country about Granite Mountain were always ambitious togain recruits for their harems from their civilized neighbors, thefreedom of the ranch horses was limited by the fences of afour-thousand-acre pasture. But within these miles of barbed wireboundaries the brood mares with their growing progeny lived as free anduntamed as their wild cousins on the unfenced lands about them. Thecolts, except for one painful experience, when they were roped andbranded, from the day of their birth until they were ready to be brokenwere never handled. 

On the morning following his meeting with the stranger on the DividePhil Acton, with two of his cowboy helpers, rode out to the big pastureto bring in the band. 

The owner of the Cross-Triangle always declared that Phil was intimatelyacquainted with every individual horse and head of stock between theDivide and Camp Wood Mountain, and from Skull Valley to the Big Chino. In moments of enthusiasm the Dean even maintained stoutly that his youngforeman knew as well every coyote, fox, badger, deer, antelope, mountainlion, bobcat and wild horse that had home or hunting ground in thecountry over which the lad had ridden since his babyhood. Certain it isthat "Wild Horse Phil, " as he was called by admiring friends--forreasons which you shall hear--loved this work and life to which he wasborn. Every feature of that wild land, from lonely mountain peak tohidden canyon spring, was as familiar to him as the streets andbuildings of a man's home city are well known to the one reared amongthem. And as he rode that morning with his comrades to the day's workthe young man felt keenly the call of the primitive, unspoiled life thatthrobbed with such vital strength about him. He could not have put thatwhich he felt into words; he was not even conscious of the forces thatso moved him; he only knew that he was glad. 

The days of the celebration at Prescott had been enjoyable days. To meetold friends and comrades; to ride with them in the contests that alltrue men of his kind love; to compare experiences and exchange news andgossip with widely separated neighbors--had been a pleasure. But thecurious crowds of strangers; the throngs of sightseers from the, to him, unknown world of cities, who had regarded him as they might have viewedsome rare and little-known creature in a menagerie, and the brazenpresence of those unclean parasites and harpies that prey always uponsuch occasions had oppressed and disgusted him until he was glad toescape again to the clean freedom, the pure vitality and the unspoiledspirit of his everyday life and environment. In an overflow of sheerphysical and spiritual energy he lifted his horse into a run and with ashrill cowboy yell challenged his companions to a wild race to thepasture gate. 

It was some time after noon when Phil checked his horse near the ruinsof an old Indian lookout on the top of Black Hill. Below, in the openland above Deep Wash, he could see his cowboy companions working theband of horses that had been gathered slowly toward the narrow pass thatat the eastern end of Black Hill leads through to the flats at the upperend of the big meadows, and so to the gate and to the way they wouldfollow to the corral. It was Phil's purpose to ride across Black Hilldown the western and northern slope, through the cedar timber, and, picking up any horses that might be ranging there, join the others atthe gate. In the meanwhile there was time for a few minutes rest. Dismounting, he loosed the girths and lifted saddle and blanket fromHobson's steaming back. Then, while the good horse, wearied with thehard riding and the steep climb up the mountain side, stood quietly inthe shade of a cedar his master, stretched on the ground near by, idlyscanned the world that lay below and about them. 

Very clearly in that light atmosphere Phil could see the trees andbuildings of the home ranch, and, just across the sandy wash from theCross-Triangle, the grove of cottonwoods and walnuts that hid the littleold house where he was born. A mile away, on the eastern side of thegreat valley meadows, he could see the home buildings of the Reidranch--the Pot-Hook-S--where Kitty Reid had lived all the days of herlife except those three years which she had spent at school in the East. 

The young man on the top of Black Hill looked long at the Reid home. Inhis mind he could see Kitty dressed in some cool, simple gown, fresh anddainty after the morning's housework, sitting with book or sewing on thefront porch. The porch was on the other side of the house, it is true, and the distance was too great for him to distinguish a person in anycase, but all that made no difference to Phil's vision--he could see herjust the same. 

Kitty had been very kind to Phil at the celebration. But Kitty wasalways kind--nearly always. But in spite of her kindness the cowboy feltthat she had not, somehow, seemed to place a very high valuation uponthe medal he had won in the bronco-riding contest. Phil himself did notgreatly value the medal; but he had wanted greatly to win thatchampionship because of the very substantial money prize that went withit. That money, in Phil's mind, was to play a very important part in along cherished dream that was one of the things that Phil Acton did nottalk about. He had not, in fact, ridden for the championship at all, butfor his dream, and that was why it mattered so much when Kitty seemed soto lack interest in his success. 

As though his subconscious mind directed the movement, the young manlooked away from Kitty's home to the distant mountain ridge where thenight before on the summit of the Divide he had met the stranger. Allthe way home the cowboy had wondered about the man; evolving manytheories, inventing many things to account for his presence, alone andon foot, so far from the surroundings to which he was so clearlyaccustomed. Of one thing Phil was sure--the man was in trouble--deeptrouble. The more that the clean-minded, gentle-hearted lad of the greatout-of-doors thought about it, the more strongly he felt that he hadunwittingly intruded at a moment that was sacred to the stranger--sacredbecause the man was fighting one of those battles that every man mustfight--and fight alone. It was this feeling that had kept the young manfrom speaking of the incident to anyone--even to the Dean, or to"Mother, " as he called Mrs. Baldwin. Perhaps, too, this feeling was thereal reason for Phil's sense of kinship with the stranger, for thecowboy himself had moments in his life that he could permit no man tolook upon. But in his thinking of the man whose personality had soimpressed him one thing stood out above all the rest--the strangerclearly belonged to that world of which, from experience, the youngforeman of the Cross-Triangle knew nothing. Phil Acton had no desire forthe world to which the stranger belonged, but in his heart there was atroublesome question. If--if he himself were more like the man whom hehad met on the Divide; if--if he knew more of that other world; if he, in some degree, belonged to that other world, as Kitty, because of herthree years in school belonged, would it make any difference?

From the distant mountain ridge that marks the eastern limits of theWilliamson Valley country, and thus, in a degree, marked the limit ofPhil's world, the lad's gaze turned again to the scene immediatelybefore him. 

The band of horses, followed by the cowboys, were trotting from thenarrow pass out into the open flats. Some of the band--the mothers--wentquietly, knowing from past experience that they would in a few hours bereturned to their freedom. Others--the colts and yearlings--bewildered, curious and fearful, followed their mothers without protest. But thosewho in many a friendly race or primitive battle had proved their growingyears seemed to sense a coming crisis in their lives, hitherto peaceful. And these, as though warned by that strange instinct which guards allwild things, and realizing that the open ground between the pass and thegate presented their last opportunity, made final desperate efforts toescape. With sudden dashes, dodging and doubling, they tried again andagain for freedom. But always between them and the haunts they lovedthere was a persistent horseman. Running, leaping, whirling, in theirefforts to be everywhere at once, the riders worked their charges towardthe gate. 

The man on the hilltop sprang to his feet. Hobson threw up his head, andwith sharp ears forward eagerly watched the game he knew so well. With aquickness incredible to the uninitiated, Phil threw blanket and saddleto place. As he drew the cinch tight, a shrill cowboy yell came up fromthe flat below. 

One of the band, a powerful bay, had broken past the guarding horsemen, and was running with every ounce of his strength for the timber on thewestern slope of Black Hill. For a hundred yards one of the riders hadtried to overtake and turn the fugitive; but as he saw how the stride ofthe free horse was widening the distance between them, the cowboy turnedback lest others follow the successful runaway's example. The yell wasto inform Phil of the situation. 

Before the echoes of the signal could die away Phil was in the saddle, and with an answering shout sent Hobson down the rough mountain side ina wild, reckless, plunging run to head the, for the moment, victoriousbay. An hour later the foreman rejoined his companions who were holdingthe band of horses at the gate. The big bay, reluctant, protesting, twisting and turning in vain attempts to outmaneuver Hobson, was acaptive in the loop of "Wild Horse Phil's" riata. 

In the big corral that afternoon Phil and his helpers with the Dean andLittle Billy looking on, cut out from the herd the horses selected to bebroken. These, one by one, were forced through the gate into theadjoining corral, from which they watched with uneasy wonder and manyexcited and ineffectual attempts to follow, when their more fortunatecompanions were driven again to the big pasture. Then Phil openedanother gate, and the little band dashed wildly through, to findthemselves in the small meadow pasture where they would pass the lastnight before the one great battle of their lives--a battle that would befor them a dividing point between those years of ease and freedom whichhad been theirs from birth and the years of hard and useful service thatwere to come. 

Phil sat on his horse at the gate watching with critical eye as theunbroken animals raced away. "Some good ones in the bunch this year, Uncle Will, " he commented to his employer, who, standing on the wateringtrough in the other corral, was looking over the fence. 

"There's bound to be some good ones in every bunch, " returned Mr. Baldwin. "And some no account ones, too, " he added, as his foremandismounted beside him. 

Then, while the young man slipped the bridle from his horse and stoodwaiting for the animal to drink, the older man regarded him silently, asthough in his own mind the Dean's observation bore somewhat upon Philhimself. That was always the way with the Dean. As Sheriff Fellows onceremarked to Judge Powell in the old days of the cattle rustlers' glory, "Whatever Bill Baldwin says is mighty nigh always double-barreled. "

There are also two sides to the Dean. Or, rather, to be accurate, thereis a front and a back. The back--flat and straight and broad--indicatesone side of his character--the side that belongs with the square chinand the blue eyes that always look at you with such frank directness. Itwas this side of the man that brought him barefooted and penniless toArizona in those days long gone when he was only a boy and Arizona astrong man's country. It was this side of him that brought himtriumphantly through those hard years of the Indian troubles, and inthose wild and lawless times made him respected and feared by theevildoers and trusted and followed by those of his kind who, out of thehardships and dangers of those turbulent days, made the Arizona ofto-day. It was this side, too, that finally made the barefoot, pennilessboy the owner of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. 

I do not know the exact number of the Dean's years--I only know that hishair is grey, and that he does not ride as much as he once did. I haveheard him say, though, that for thirty-five years he lived in thesaddle, and that the Cross-Triangle brand is one of the oldest irons inthe State. And I know, too, that his back is still flat and broad andstraight. 

The Dean's front, so well-rounded and hearty, indicates as clearly theother side of his character. And it is this side that belongs to thefull red cheeks, the ever-ready chuckle or laugh; that puts the twinklein the blue eyes, and the kindly tones in his deep voice. It is thisside of the Dean's character that adds so large a measure of love to therespect and confidence accorded him by neighbors and friends, businessassociates and employees. It is this side of the Dean, too, that, inthese days, sits in the shade of the big walnut trees--planted by hisown hand--and talks to the youngsters of the days that are gone, andthat makes the young riders of this generation seek him out for counseland sympathy and help. 

Three things the Dean knows--cattle and horses and men. One thing theDean will not, cannot tolerate--weakness in one who should be strong. Even bad men he admires, if they are strong--not for their badness, butfor their strength. Mistaken men he loves in spite of their mistakes--ifonly they be not weaklings. There is no place anywhere in the Dean'sphilosophy of life for a weakling. I heard him tell a man once--norshall I ever forget it--"You had better die like a man, sir, than livelike a sneaking coyote. "

The Dean's sons, men grown, were gone from the home ranch to the fieldsand work of their choosing. Little Billy, a nephew of seven years, was--as Mr. And Mrs. Baldwin said laughingly--their second crop. 

When Phil's horse--satisfied--lifted his dripping muzzle from thewatering trough, the Dean walked with his young foreman to the saddleshed. Neither of the men spoke, for between them there was thatcompanionship which does not require a constant flow of talk to keep italive. Not until the cowboy had turned his horse loose, and was hangingsaddle and bridle on their accustomed peg did the older man speak. 

"Jim Reid's goin' to begin breakin' horses next week. "

"So I heard, " returned Phil, carefully spreading his saddle blanket todry. 

The Dean spoke again in a tone of indifference. "He wants you to helphim. "

"Me! What's the matter with Jack?"

"He's goin' to the D. 1 to-morrow. "

Phil was examining the wrapping on his saddle horn with--the Deannoted--quite unnecessary care. 

"Kitty was over this mornin', " said the Dean gently. 

The young man turned, and, taking off his spurs, hung them on the saddlehorn. Then as he kicked off his leather chaps he said shortly, "I'm notlooking for a job as a professional bronco-buster. "

The Dean's eyes twinkled. "Thought you might like to help a neighborout; just to be neighborly, you know. "

"Do you want me to ride for Reid?" demanded Phil. 

"Well, I suppose as long as there's broncs to bust somebody's got tobust 'em, " the Dean returned, without committing himself. And then, whenPhil made no reply, he added laughing, "I told Kitty to tell him, though, that I reckoned you had as big a string as you could handlehere. "

As they moved away toward the house, Phil returned with significantemphasis, "When I have to ride for anybody besides you it won't be KittyReid's father. "

And the Dean commented in his reflective tone, "It does sometimes seemto make a difference who a man rides for, don't it?"

In the pasture by the corrals, the horses that awaited the approachingtrial that would mark for them the beginning of a new life passed arestless night. Some in meekness of spirit or, perhaps, with deeperwisdom fed quietly. Others wandered about aimlessly, snatching anoccasional uneasy mouthful of grass, and looking about often in troubleddoubt. The more rebellious ones followed the fence, searching for someplace of weakness in the barbed barrier that imprisoned them. And one, who, had he not been by circumstance robbed of his birthright, wouldhave been the strong leader of a wild band, stood often with widenostrils and challenging eye, gazing toward the corrals and buildings asif questioning the right of those who had brought him there from thehaunts he loved. 

And somewhere in the night of that land which was as unknown to him asthe meadow pasture was strange to the unbroken horses, a man awaited theday which, for him too, was to stand through all his remaining years asa mark between the old life and the new. 

As Phil Acton lay in his bed, with doors and windows open wide towelcome the cool night air, he heard the restless horses in the near-bypasture, and smiled as he thought of the big bay and the morrow--smiledwith the smile of a man who looks forward to a battle worthy of his beststrength and skill. 

And then, strangely enough, as he was slipping into that dreamless sleepof those who live as he lived, his mind went back again to the strangerwhom he had met on the summit of the Divide. If he were more like thatman, would it make any difference--the cowboy wondered. 

CHAPTER IV. 

AT THE CORRAL. 

In the beginning of the morning, when Granite Mountain's fortress-likebattlements and towers loomed gray and bold and grim, the big bay horsetrumpeted a warning to his less watchful mates. Instantly, with headshigh and eyes wide, the band stood in frightened indecision. Twohorsemen--shadowy and mysterious forms in the misty light--were ridingfrom the corral into the pasture. 

As the riders approached, individuals in the band moved uneasily, starting as if to run, hesitating, turning for another look, maneuveringto put their mates between them and the enemy. But the bay went boldly ashort distance toward the danger and stood still with wide nostrils andfierce eyes as though ready for the combat. 

For a few moments, as the horsemen seemed about to go past, hope beathigh in the hearts of the timid prisoners. Then the riders circled toput the band between themselves and the corral gate, and the frightenedanimals knew. But always as they whirled and dodged in their attempts toavoid that big gate toward which they were forced to move, there was asilent, persistent horseman barring the way. The big bay alone, asthough realizing the futility of such efforts and so conserving hisstrength for whatever was to follow, trotted proudly, boldly into thecorral, where he stood, his eyes never leaving the riders, as his matescrowded and jostled about him. 

"There's one in that bunch that's sure aimin' to make you ride some, "said Curly Elson with a grin, to Phil, as the family sat at breakfast. 

On the Cross-Triangle the men who were held through the summer andwinter seasons between the months of the rodeos were considered membersof the family. Chosen for their character, as well as for theirknowledge of the country and their skill in their work the Dean and"Stella, " as Mrs. Baldwin is called throughout all that country, alwaysspoke of them affectionately as "our boys. " And this, better thananything that could be said, is an introduction to the mistress of theCross-Triangle household. 

At the challenging laugh which followed Curly's observation, Philreturned quietly with his sunny smile, "Maybe I'll quit him before hegets good and started. "

"He's sure fixin' to make you back the decision of them contest judges, "offered Bob Colton. 

And Mrs. Baldwin, young in spirit as any of her boys, added, "Better notwear your medal, son. It might excite him to know that you are thechampion buster of Arizona. "

"Shucks!" piped up Little Billy excitedly, "Phil can ride anything whatwears hair, can't you, Phil?"

Phil, embarrassed at the laughter which followed, said, with tactfulseriousness, to his little champion, "That's right, kid. You stand upfor your pardner every time, don't you? You'll be riding them yourselfbefore long. There's a little sorrel in that bunch that I've picked outto gentle for you. " He glanced at his employer meaningly, and the Dean'sface glowed with appreciation of the young man's thoughtfulness. "Thatold horse, Sheep, of yours, " continued Phil to Little Billy, "is gettingtoo old and stiff for your work. I've noticed him stumbling a lotlately. " Again he glanced inquiringly at the Dean, who answered the lookwith a slight nod of approval. 

"You'd better make him gentle your horse first, Billy, " teased Curly. "He might not be in the business when that big one gets through withhim. "

Little Billy's retort came in a flash. "Huh, 'Wild Horse Phil' will bea-ridin' 'em long after you've got your'n, Curly Elson. "

"Look out, son, " cautioned the Dean, when the laugh had gone roundagain. "Curly will be slippin' a burr under your saddle, if you don't. "Then to the men: "What horse is it that you boys think is goin' to besuch a bad one? That big bay with the blazed face?"

The cowboys nodded. 

"He's bad, all right, " said Phil. 

"Well, " commented the Dean, leaning back in his chair and speakinggenerally, "he's sure got a license to be bad. His mother was thewickedest piece of horse flesh I ever knew. Remember her, Stella?"

"Indeed I do, " returned Mrs. Baldwin. "She nearly ruined that Windy Jimwho came from nobody knew where, and bragged that he could rideanything. "

The Dean chuckled reminiscently. "She sure sent Windy back where he camefrom. But I tell you, boys, that kind of a horse makes the best in theworld once you get 'em broke right. Horses are just like men, anyhow. Ifthey ain't got enough in 'em to fight when they're bein' broke, theyain't generally worth breakin'. "

"The man that rides that bay will sure be a-horseback, " said Curly. 

"He's a man's horse, all right, " agreed Bob. 

Breakfast over, the men left the house, not too quietly, and laughing, jesting and romping like school boys, went out to the corrals, withLittle Billy tagging eagerly at their heels. The Dean and Phil remainedfor a few minutes at the table. 

"You really oughtn't to say such things to those boys, Will, " reprovedMrs. Baldwin, as she watched them from the window. "It encourages themto be wild, and land knows they don't need any encouragement. "

"Shucks, " returned the Dean, with that gentle note that was always inhis voice when he spoke to her. "If such talk as that can hurt 'em, there ain't nothin' that could save 'em. You're always afraid somebody'sgoin' to go bad. Look at me and Phil here, " he added, as they in turnpushed their chairs back from the table; "you've fussed enough over usto spoil a dozen men, and ain't we been a credit to you all the time?"

At this they laughed together. But as Phil was leaving the house Mrs. Baldwin stopped him at the door to say earnestly, "You will be carefulto-day, won't you, son? You know my other Phil--" She stopped and turnedaway. 

The young man knew that story--a story common to that land where thelives of men are not infrequently offered a sacrifice to the untamedstrength of the life that in many forms they are daily called upon tomeet and master. 

"Never mind, mother, " he said gently. "I'll be all right. " Then morelightly he added, with his sunny smile, "If that big bay starts anythingwith me, I'll climb the corral fence pronto. "

Quietly, as one who faces a hard day's work, Phil went to the saddleshed where he buckled on chaps and spurs. Then, after looking carefullyto stirrup leathers, cinch and latigos, he went on to the corrals, theheavy saddle under his arm. 

Curly and Bob, their horses saddled and ready, were making animatedtargets of themselves for Little Billy, who, mounted on Sheep, a gentleold cow-horse, was whirling a miniature riata. As the foreman appeared, the cowboys dropped their fun, and, mounting, took the coils of theirown rawhide ropes in hand. 

"Which one will you have first, Phil?" asked Curly, as he moved towardthe gate between the big corral and the smaller enclosure that held theband of horses. 

"That black one with the white star will do, " directed Phil quietly. Then to Little Billy: "You'd better get back there out of the way, pardner. That black is liable to jump clear over you and Sheep. "

"You better get outside, son, " amended the Dean, who had come out towatch the beginning of the work. 

"No, no--please, Uncle Will, " begged the lad. "They can't get me as longas I'm on Sheep. "

Phil and the Dean laughed. 

"I'll look out for him, " said the young man. "Only, " he added to theboy, "you must keep out of the way. "

"And see that you stick to Sheep, if you expect him to take care ofyou, " finished the Dean, relenting. 

Meanwhile the gate between the corrals had been thrown open, and withBob to guard the opening Curly rode in among the unbroken horses to cutout the animal indicated by Phil, and from within that circularenclosure, where the earth had been ground to fine powder by hundreds ofthousands of frightened feet, came the rolling thunder of quick-beatinghoofs as in a swirling cloud of yellow dust the horses rushed and leapedand whirled. Again and again the frightened animals threw themselvesagainst the barrier that hemmed them in; but that fence, built of cedarposts set close in stockade fashion and laced on the outside with wire, was made to withstand the maddened rush of the heaviest steers. Andalways, amid the confusion of the frenzied animals, the figure of themounted man in their midst could be seen calmly directing their wildestmovements, and soon, out from the crowding, jostling, whirling mass offlying feet and tossing manes and tails, the black with the white starshot toward the gate. Bob's horse leaped aside from the way. Curly'shorse was between the black and his mates, and before the animal couldgather his confused senses he was in the larger corral. The day's workhad begun. 

The black dodged skillfully, and the loop of Curly's riata missed themark. 

"You better let somebody put eyes in that rope, Curly, " remarked Phil, laconically, as he stepped aside to avoid a wild rush. 

The chagrined cowboy said something in a low tone, so that Little Billycould not hear. 

The Dean chuckled. 

Bob's riata whirled, shot out its snaky length, and his trained horsebraced himself skillfully to the black's weight on the rope. For a fewminutes the animal at the loop end of the riata struggleddesperately--plunging, tugging, throwing himself this way and that; butalways the experienced cow-horse turned with his victim and the rope wasnever slack. When his first wild efforts were over and the black stoodwith his wide braced feet, breathing heavily as that choking loop beganto tell, the strain on the taut riata was lessened, and Phil wentquietly toward the frightened captive. 

No one moved or spoke. This was not an exhibition the success of whichdepended on the vicious wildness of the horse to be conquered. This waswork, and it was not Phil's business to provoke the black to extremes inorder to exhibit his own prowess as a rider for the pleasure ofspectators who had paid to see the show. The rider was employed to winthe confidence of the unbroken horse entrusted to him; to forceobedience, if necessary; to gentle and train, and so make of the wildcreature a useful and valuable servant for the Dean. 

There are riders whose methods demand that they throw every unbrokenhorse given them to handle, and who gentle an animal by beating it aboutthe head with loaded quirts, ripping its flanks open with sharp spursand tearing its mouth with torturing bits and ropes. These turn over totheir employers as their finished product horses that are broken, indeed--but broken only in spirit, with no heart or courage left tothem, with dispositions ruined, and often with physical injuries fromwhich they never recover. But riders of such methods have no place amongthe men employed by owners of the Dean's type. On the Cross-Triangle, and indeed on all ranches where conservative business principles are inforce, the horses are handled with all the care and gentleness that thework and the individuality of the animal will permit. 

After a little Phil's hand gently touched the black's head. Instantlythe struggle was resumed. The rider dodged a vicious blow from thestrong fore hoofs and with a good natured laugh softly chided thedesperate animal. And so, presently, the kind hand was again stretchedforth; and then a broad band of leather was deftly slipped over theblack's frightened eyes. Another thicker and softer rope was knotted sothat it could not slip about the now sweating neck, and fashioned into ahackamore or halter about the animal's nose. Then the riata was loosed. Working deftly, silently, gently--ever wary of those dangeroushoofs--Phil next placed blanket and saddle on the trembling black anddrew the cinch tight. Then the gate leading from the corral to the openrange was swung back. Easily, but quickly and surely, the rider swung tohis seat. He paused a moment to be sure that all was right, and thenleaning forward he reached over and raised the leather blindfold. For aninstant the wild, unbroken horse stood still, then reared until itseemed he must fall, and then, as his forefeet touched the ground again, the spurs went home, and with a mighty leap forward the frenzied animaldashed, bucking, plunging, pitching, through the gate and away towardthe open country, followed by Curly and Bob, with Little Billy spurringold Sheep, in hot pursuit. 

For a little the Dean lingered in the suddenly emptied corral. Steppingup on the end of the long watering trough, close to the dividing fence, he studied with knowing eye the animals on the other side. Thenleisurely he made his way out of the corral, visited the windmill pump, looked in on Stella from the kitchen porch, and then saddled Browny, hisown particular horse that grazed always about the place at privilegedease, and rode off somewhere on some business of his own. 

When the black horse had spent his strength in a vain attempt to ridhimself of the dreadful burden that had attached itself so securely tohis back, he was herded back to the corral, where the burden set himfree. Dripping with sweat, trembling in every limb and muscle, wild-eyed, with distended nostrils and heaving flanks, the black crowdedin among his mates again, his first lesson over--his years of ease andfreedom past forever. 

"And which will it be this time?" came Curly's question. 

"I'll have that buckskin this trip, " answered Phil. 

And again that swirling cloud of dust raised by those thundering hoofsdrifted over the stockade enclosure, and out of the mad confusion thebuckskin dashed wildly through the gate to be initiated into his newlife. 

And so, hour after hour, the work went on, as horse after horse atPhil's word was cut out of the band and ridden; and every horse, according to disposition and temper and strength, was different. Whilehis helpers did their part the rider caught a few moments rest. Alwayshe was good natured, soft spoken and gentle. When a frightened animal, not understanding, tried to kill him, he accepted it as evidence of acommendable spirit, and, with that sunny, boyish smile, informed hispupil kindly that he was a good horse and must not make a fool ofhimself. 

In so many ways, as the Dean had said at breakfast that morning, horsesare just like men. 

It was mid-afternoon when the master of the Cross-Triangle againstrolled leisurely out to the corrals. Phil and his helpers, includingLittle Billy, were just disappearing over the rise of ground beyond thegate on the farther side of the enclosure as the Dean reached the gatethat opens toward the barn and house. He went on through the corral, and slowly, as one having nothing else to do, climbed the little knollfrom which he could watch the riders in the distance. When the horsemenhad disappeared among the scattered cedars on the ridge, a mile or so tothe west, the Dean still stood looking in that direction. But the ownerof the Cross-Triangle was not watching for the return of his men. He wasnot even thinking of them. He was looking beyond the cedar ridge towhere, several miles away, a long, mesa-topped mountain showed blackagainst the blue of the more distant hills. The edge of this hightable-land broke abruptly in a long series of vertical cliffs, theformation known to Arizonians as rim rocks. The deep shadows of thetowering black wall of cliffs and the gloom of the pines and cedars thathid the foot of the mountain gave the place a sinister and threateningappearance. 

As he looked, the Dean's kindly face grew somber and stern; his blueeyes were for the moment cold and accusing; under his grizzled mustachehis mouth, usually so ready to smile or laugh, was set in lines ofuncompromising firmness. In these quiet and well-earned restful years ofthe Dean's life the Tailholt Mountain outfit was the only disturbingelement. But the Dean did not permit himself to be long annoyed by thethoughts provoked by Tailholt Mountain. Philosophically he turned hisbroad back to the intruding scene, and went back to the corral, and tothe more pleasing occupation of looking at the horses. 

If the Dean had not so abruptly turned his back upon the landscape, hewould have noticed the figure of a man moving slowly along the roadthat skirted the valley meadow leading from Simmons to theCross-Triangle Ranch. 

Presently the riders returned, and Phil, when he had removed saddle, blanket and hackamore from his pupil, seated himself on the edge of thewatering trough beside the Dean. 

"I see you ain't tackled the big bay yet, " remarked the older man. 

"Thought if I'd let him look on for a while, he might figure it out thathe'd better be good and not get himself hurt, " smiled Phil. "He's suresome horse, " he added admiringly. Then to his helpers: "I'll take thatblack with the white forefoot this time, Curly. "

Just as the fresh horse dashed into the larger corral a man on footappeared, coming over the rise of ground to the west; and by the timethat Curly's loop was over the black's head the man stood at the gate. One glance told Phil that it was the stranger whom he had met on theDivide. 

The man seemed to understand that it was no time for greetings and, without offering to enter the enclosure, climbed to the top of the biggate, where he sat, with one leg over the topmost bar, an interestedspectator. 

The maneuvers of the black brought Phil to that side of the corral, and, as he coolly dodged the fighting horse, he glanced up with his boyishsmile and a quick nod of welcome to the man perched above him. Thestranger smiled in return, but did not speak. He must have thought, though, that this cowboy appeared quite different from the picturesquerider he had seen at the celebration and on the summit of the Divide. _That_ Phil Acton had been--as the cowboy himself would have said--"alltogged out in his glad rags. " This man wore chaps that were old andpatched from hard service; his shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, was thecolor of the corral dirt, and a generous tear revealed one muscularshoulder; his hat was greasy and battered; his face grimed and streakedwith dust and sweat, but his sunny, boyish smile would have identifiedPhil in any garb. 

When the rider was ready to mount, and Bob went to open the gate, thestranger climbed down and drew a little aside. And when Phil, passingwhere he stood, looked laughingly down at him from the back of thebucking, plunging horse, he made as if to applaud, but checked himselfand went quickly to the top of the knoll to watch the riders until theydisappeared over the ridge. 

"Howdy! Fine weather we're havin'. " It was the Dean's hearty voice. Hehad gone forward courteously to greet the stranger while the latter waswatching the riders. 

The man turned impulsively, his face lighted with enthusiasm. "By Jove!"he exclaimed, "but that man can ride!"

"Yes, Phil does pretty well, " returned the Dean indifferently. "Won thechampionship at Prescott the other day. " Then, more heartily: "He's amighty good boy, too--take him any way you like. "

As he spoke the cattleman looked the stranger over critically, much ashe would have looked at a steer or horse, noting the long limbs, thewell-made body, the strong face and clear, dark eyes. The man's dresstold the Dean simply that the stranger was from the city. His bearingcommanded the older man's respect. The stranger's next statement, as helooked thoughtfully over the wide Land of valley and hill and mesa andmountain, convinced the Dean that he was a man of judgment. 

"Arizona is a wonderful country, sir--wonderful!"

"Finest in the world, sir, " agreed the Dean promptly. "There justnaturally can't be any better. We've got the climate; we've got theland; and we've got the men. "

The stranger looked at the Dean quickly when he said "men. " It was worthmuch to hear the Dean speak that word. 

"Indeed you have, " he returned heartily. "I never saw such men. "

"Of course you haven't, " said the Dean. "I tell you, sir, they justdon't make 'em outside of Arizona. It takes a country like this toproduce real men. A man's got to be a man out here. Of course, though, "he admitted kindly, "we don't know much except to ride, an' throw arope, an' shoot, mebby, once in a while. "

The riders were returning and the Dean and the stranger walked back downthe little hill to the corral. 

"You have a fine ranch here, Mr. Baldwin, " again observed the stranger. 

The Dean glanced at him sharply. Many men had tried to buy theCross-Triangle. This man certainly appeared prosperous even though hewas walking. But there was no accounting for the queer things that citymen would do. 

"It does pretty well, " the cattleman admitted. "I manage to make alivin'. "

The other smiled as though slightly embarrassed. Then: "Do you need anyhelp?"

"Help!" The Dean looked at him amazed. 

"I mean--I would like a position--to work for you, you know. "

The Dean was speechless. Again he surveyed the stranger with hismeasuring, critical look. "You've never done any work, " he said gently. 

The man stood very straight before him and spoke almost defiantly. "No, I haven't, but is that any reason why I should not?"

The Dean's eyes twinkled, as they have a way of doing when you saysomething that he likes. "I'd say it's a better reason why you should, "he returned quietly. 

Then he said to Phil, who, having dismissed his four-footed pupil, wascoming toward them:

"Phil, this man wants a job. Think we can use him?"

The young man looked at the stranger with unfeigned surprise and with ahint of amusement, but gave no sign that he had ever seen him before. The same natural delicacy of feeling that had prevented the cowboy fromdiscussing the man upon whose privacy he felt he had intruded thatevening of their meeting on the Divide led him now to ignore theincident--a consideration which could not but command the strange man'srespect, and for which he looked his gratitude. 

There was something about the stranger, too, that to Phil seemeddifferent. This tall, well-built fellow who stood before them soself-possessed, and ready for anything, was not altogether like theuncertain, embarrassed, half-frightened and troubled gentleman at whomPhil had first laughed with thinly veiled contempt, and then had pitied. It was as though the man who sat that night alone on the Divide had, outof the very bitterness of his experience, called forth from withinhimself a strength of which, until then, he had been only dimlyconscious. There was now, in his face and bearing, courage and decisionand purpose, and with it all a glint of that same humor that had madehim so bitterly mock himself. The Dean's philosophy touching thepossibilities of the man who laughs when he is hurt seemed in thisstranger about to be justified. Phil felt oddly, too, that the man wasin a way experimenting with himself--testing himself as it were--andbeing altogether a normal human, the cowboy felt strongly inclined tohelp the experimenter. In this spirit he answered the Dean, whilelooking mischievously at the stranger. 

"We can use him if he can ride. "

The stranger smiled understandingly. "I don't see why I couldn't, " hereturned in that droll tone. "I seem to have the legs. " He looked downat his long lower limbs reflectively, as though quaintly consideringthem quite apart from himself. 

Phil laughed. 

"Huh, " said the Dean, slightly mystified at the apparent understandingbetween the young men. Then to the stranger: "What do you want to workfor? You don't look as though you needed to. A sort of vacation, heh?"

There was spirit in the man's answer. "I want to work for the reasonthat all men want work. If you do not employ me, I must try somewhereelse. "

"Come from Prescott to Simmons on the stage, did you?"

"No, sir, I walked. "

"Walked! Huh! Tried anywhere else for a job?"

"No, sir. "

"Who sent you out here?"

The stranger smiled. "I saw Mr. Acton ride in the contest. I learnedthat he was foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. I thought I wouldrather work where he worked, if I could. "

The Dean looked at Phil. Phil looked at the Dean. Together they lookedat the stranger. The two cowboys who were sitting on their horsesnear-by grinned at each other. 

"And what is your name, sir?" the Dean asked courteously. 

For the first time the man hesitated and seemed embarrassed. He lookeduneasily about with a helpless inquiring glance, as though appealing forsome suggestion. 

"Oh, never mind your name, if you have forgotten it, " said the Deandryly. 

The stranger's roaming eyes fell upon Phil's old chaps, that in everywrinkle and scar and rip and tear gave such eloquent testimony as to thewearer's life, and that curious, self-mocking smile touched his lips. Then, throwing up his head and looking the Dean straight in the eye, hesaid boldly, but with that note of droll humor in his voice, "My name isPatches, sir, Honorable Patches. "

The Dean's eyes twinkled, but his face was grave. Phil's face flushed;he had not failed to identify the source of the stranger's inspiration. But before either the Dean or Phil could speak a shout of laughter camefrom Curly Elson, and the stranger had turned to face the cowboy. 

"Something seems to amuse you, " he said quietly to the man on the horse;and at the tone of his voice Phil and the Dean exchanged significantglances. 

The grinning cowboy looked down at the stranger in evident contempt. "Patches, " he drawled. "Honorable Patches! That's a hell of a name, now, ain't it?"

The man went two long steps toward the mocking rider, and spoke quietly, but with unmistakable meaning. 

"I'll endeavor to make it all of that for you, if you will get off yourhorse. "

The grinning cowboy, with a wink at his companion, dismountedcheerfully. Curly Elson was held to be the best man with his hands inYavapai County. He could not refuse so tempting an opportunity to add tohis well-earned reputation. 

Five minutes later Curly lifted himself on one elbow in the corral dust, and looked up with respectful admiration to the quiet man who stoodwaiting for him to rise. Curly's lip was bleeding generously; the sideof his face seemed to have slipped out of place, and his left eye wasclosing surely and rapidly. 

"Get up, " said the tall man calmly. "There is more where that came from, if you want it. "

The cowboy grinned painfully. "I ain't hankerin' after any more, " hemumbled, feeling his face tenderly. 

"It said that my name was Patches, " suggested the stranger. 

"Sure, Mr. Patches, I reckon nobody'll question that. "

"Honorable Patches, " again prompted the stranger. 

"Yes, sir. You bet; Honorable Patches, " agreed Curly with emphasis. Then, as he painfully regained his feet, he held out his hand with asnearly a smile as his battered features would permit. "Do you mindshaking on it, Mr. Honorable Patches? Just to show that there's no hardfeelin's?"

Patches responded instantly with a manner that won Curly's heart. "Good!" he said. "I knew you would do that when you understood, or Iwouldn't have bothered to show you my credentials. "

"My mistake, " returned Curly. "It's them there credentials of yourn, notyour name, that's hell. "

He gingerly mounted his horse again, and Patches turned back to the Deanas though apologizing for the interruption. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but--about work?"

The Dean never told anyone just what his thoughts were at thatparticular moment; probably because they were so many and socontradictory and confusing. Whether from this uncertainty of mind; froma habit of depending upon his young foreman, or because of thatsomething, which Phil and the stranger seemed to have in common, heshifted the whole matter by saying, "It's up to Phil here. He's foremanof the Cross-Triangle. If he wants to hire you, it's all right with me. "

At this the two young men faced each other; and on the face of each wasa half questioning, half challenging smile. The stranger seemed to say, "I know I am at your mercy; I don't expect you to believe in me afterour meeting on the Divide, but I dare you to put me to the test. "

And Phil, if he had spoken, might have said, "I felt when I met youfirst that there was a man around somewhere. I know you are curious tosee what you would do if put to the test. I am curious, too. I'll giveyou a chance. " Aloud he reminded the stranger pointedly, "I said wemight use you if you could ride. "

Patches smiled his self-mocking smile, evidently appreciating hispredicament. "And I said, " he retorted, "that I didn't see why Icouldn't. "

Phil turned to his grinning but respectful helpers. "Bring out that baywith the blazed face. "

"Great Snakes!" ejaculated Curly to Bob, as they reached the gateleading to the adjoining corral. "His name is Patches, all right, buthe'll be pieces when that bay devil gets through with him, if he can'tride. Do you reckon he can?"

"Dunno, " returned Bob, as he unlatched the gate without dismounting. "Ithought he couldn't fight. "

"So did I, " returned Curly, grimly nursing his battered face. "You cutout the horse; I can't more'n half see. "

It was no trouble to cut out the bay. The big horse seemed to understandthat his time had come. All day he had seen his mates go forth to theirtesting, had watched them as they fought with all their strength theskill and endurance of that smiling, boy-faced man, and then had seenthem as they returned, sweating, trembling, conquered and subdued. AsBob rode toward him, he stood for one defiant moment as motionless as ahorse of bronze; then, with a suddenness that gave Curly at the gatebarely time to dodge his rush, he leaped forward into the larger arena. 

Phil was watching the stranger as the big horse came through the gate. The man did not move, but his eyes were glowing darkly, his face wasflushed, and he was smiling to himself mockingly--as though amused atthe thought of what was about to happen to him. The Dean also waswatching Patches, and again the young foreman and his employer exchangedsignificant glances as Phil turned and went quickly to Little Billy. Lifting the lad from his saddle and seating him on the fence above thelong watering trough, he said, "There's a grandstand seat for you, pardner; don't get down unless you have to, and then get down outside. See?"

At that moment yells of warning, with a "Look out, Phil!" came fromCurly, Bob and the Dean. 

A quick look over his shoulder, and Phil saw the big horse with earswickedly flat, eyes gleaming, and teeth bared, making straight in hisdirection. The animal had apparently singled him out as the author ofhis misfortunes, and proposed to dispose of his arch-enemy at the veryoutset of the battle. There was only one sane thing to do, and Phil didit. A vigorous, scrambling leap placed him beside Little Billy on thetop of the fence above the watering trough. 

"Good thing I reserved a seat in your grandstand for myself, wasn't it, pardner?" he smiled down at the boy by his side. 

Then Bob's riata fell true, and as the powerful horse plunged and foughtthat strangling noose Phil came leisurely down from the fence. 

"Where was you goin', Phil?" chuckled the Dean. 

"You sure warn't losin' any time, " laughed Curly. 

And Bob, without taking his eyes from the vicious animal at the end ofhis taut riata, and working skillfully with his trained cow-horse tofoil every wicked plunge and wild leap, grinned with appreciation, as headded, "I'll bet four bits you can't do it again, Phil, without arunnin' start. "

"I just thought I'd keep Little Billy company for a spell, " smiled Phil. "He looked so sort of lonesome up there. "

The stranger, at first amazed that they could turn into jest an incidentwhich might so easily have been a tragedy, suddenly laughed aloud--ajoyous, ringing laugh that made Phil look at him sharply. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton, " said Patches meekly, but with that drollvoice which brought a glint of laughter into the foreman's eyes andcalled forth another chuckle from the Dean. 

"You can take my saddle, " said Phil pointedly. "It's over there at theend of the watering trough. You'll find the stirrups about right, Ireckon--I ride with them rather long. "

For a moment the stranger looked him straight in the eyes, then withouta word started for the saddle. He was half way to the end of thewatering trough when Phil overtook him. 

"I believe I'd rather saddle him myself, " the cowboy explained quietly, with his sunny smile. "You see, I've got to teach these horses some cowsense before the fall rodeo, and I'm rather particular about the waythey're handled at the start. "

"Exactly, " returned Patches, "I don't blame you. That fellow seemsrather to demand careful treatment, doesn't he?"

Phil laughed. "Oh, you don't need to be too particular about hisfeelings once you're up in the middle of him, " he retorted. 

The big bay, instead of acquiring sense from his observations, as Philhad expressed to the Dean a hope that he would, seemed to have gainedcourage and determination. Phil's approach was the signal for a madplunge in the young man's direction, which was checked by the skill andweight of Bob's trained cow-horse on the rope. Several times Phil wenttoward the bay, and every time his advance was met by one of thosevicious rushes. Then Phil mounted Curly's horse, and from his hand theloop of another riata fell over the bay's head. Shortening his rope bycoiling it in his rein hand, he maneuvered the trained horse closer andcloser to his struggling captive, until, with Bob's co-operation on theother side of the fighting animal, he could with safety fix the leatherblindfold over those wicked eyes. 

When at last hackamore and saddle were in place, and the bay stoodtrembling and sweating, Phil wiped the perspiration from his ownforehead and turned to the stranger. 

"Your horse is ready, sir. "

The man's face was perhaps a shade whiter than its usual color, but hiseyes were glowing, and there was a grim set look about his smiling lipsthat made the hearts of those men go out to him. He seemed to realize sothat the joke was on himself, and with it all exhibited such recklessindifference to consequences. Without an instant's hesitation he startedtoward the horse. 

"Great Snakes!" muttered Curly to Bob, "talk about nerve!"

The Dean started forward. "Wait a minute, Mr. Patches, " he said. 

The stranger faced him. 

"Can you ride that horse?" asked the Dean, pointedly. 

"I'm going to, " returned Patches. "But, " he added with his droll humor, "I can't say how far. "

"Don't you know that he'll kill you if he can?" questioned the Deancuriously, while his eyes twinkled approval. 

"He does seem to have some such notion, " admitted Patches. 

"You better let him alone, " said the Dean. "You don't need to killyourself to get a job with this outfit. "

"That's very kind of you, sir, " returned the stranger gratefully. "I'mrather glad you said that. But I'm going to ride him just the same. "

They looked at him in amazement, for it was clear to them now that theman really could not ride. 

The Dean spoke kindly. "Why?"

"Because, " said Patches slowly, "I am curious to see what I will dounder such circumstances, and if I don't try the experiment now I'llnever know whether I have the nerve to do it or not. " As he finished heturned and walked deliberately toward the horse. 

Phil ran to Curly's side, and the cowboy at his foreman's gesture leapedfrom his saddle. The young man mounted his helper's horse, and with aquick movement caught the riata from the saddle horn and flipped open aready loop. 

The stranger was close to the bay's off, or right, side. 

"The other side, Patches, " called Phil genially. "You want to start inright, you know. "

Not a man laughed--except the stranger. 

"Thanks, " he said, and came around to the proper side. 

"Take your time, " called Phil again. "Stand by his shoulder and watchhis heels. Take the stirrup with your right hand and turn it to catchyour foot. Stay back by his shoulder until you are ready to swing up. Take your time. "

"I won't be long, " returned Patches, as he awkwardly gained his seat inthe saddle. 

Phil moved his horse nearer the center of the corral, and shook out hisloop a little. 

"When you're ready, lean over and pull up the blindfold, " he called. 

The man on the horse did not hesitate. With every angry nerve and musclestrained to the utmost, the powerful bay leaped into the air, comingdown with legs stiff and head between his knees. For an instant the manmiraculously kept his place. With another vicious plunge and acork-screw twist the maddened brute went up again, and this time the manwas flung from the saddle as from a gigantic catapult, to fall upon hisshoulders and back in the corral dust, where he lay still. The horse, rid of his enemy, leaped again; then with catlike quickness and devilishcunning whirled, and with wicked teeth bared and vicious, blazing eyes, rushed for the helpless man on the ground. 

With a yell Bob spurred to put himself between the bay and his victim, but had there been time the move would have been useless, for no horsecould have withstood that mad charge. The vicious brute was within abound of his victim, and had reared to crush him with the weight ofheavy hoofs, when a rawhide rope tightened about those uplifted forefeetand the bay himself crashed to earth. Leaving the cow-horse to hold theriata tight, Phil sprang from his saddle and ran to the fallen man. TheDean came with water in his felt hat from the trough, and presently thestranger opened his eyes. For a moment he lay looking up into theirfaces as though wondering where he was, and how he happened there. 

"Are you hurt bad?" asked the Dean. 

That brought him to his senses, and he got to his feet somewhatunsteadily, and began brushing the dust from his clothes. Then he lookedcuriously toward the horse that Curly was holding down by the simplemeans of sitting on the animal's head. "I certainly thought my legs werelong enough to reach around him, " he said reflectively. "How in theworld did he manage it? I seemed to be falling for a week. "

Phil yelled and the Dean laughed until the tears ran down his redcheeks, while Bob and Curly went wild. 

Patches went to the horse, and gravely walked around him. Then, "Let himup, " he said to Curly. 

The cowboy looked at Phil, who nodded. 

As the bay regained his feet, Patches started toward him. 

"Here, " said the Dean peremptorily. "You come away from there. "

"I'm going to see if he can do it again, " declared Patches grimly. 

"Not to-day, you ain't, " returned the Dean. "You're workin' for me now, an' you're too good a man to be killed tryin' any more crazyexperiments. "

At the Dean's words the look of gratitude in the man's eyes was almostpathetic. 

"I wonder if I am, " he said, so low that only the Dean and Phil heard. 

"If you are what?" asked the Dean, puzzled by his manner. 

"Worth anything--as a man--you know, " came the strange reply. 

The Dean chuckled. "You'll be all right when you get your growth. Comeon over here now, out of the way, while Phil takes some of thecussedness out of that fool horse. "

Together they watched Phil ride the bay and return him to his mates avery tired and a much wiser pupil. Then, while Patches remained to watchfurther operations in the corral, the Dean went to the house to tellStella all about it. 

"And what do you think he really is?" she asked, as the last of a longlist of questions and comments. 

The Dean shook his head. "There's no tellin'. A man like that is liableto be anything. " Then he added, with his usual philosophy: "He acts, though, like a genuine thoroughbred that's been badly mishandled an' hasjust found it out. "

When the day's work was finished and supper was over Little Billy foundPatches where he stood looking across the valley toward Granite Mountainthat loomed so boldly against the soft light of the evening sky. The mangreeted the boy awkwardly, as though unaccustomed to children. ButLittle Billy, very much at ease, signified his readiness to help thestranger to an intimate acquaintance with the world of which he knew somuch more than this big man. 

He began with no waste of time on mere preliminaries. 

"See that mountain over there? That's Granite Mountain. There's wildhorses live around there, an' sometimes we catch 'em. Bet you don't knowthat Phil's name is 'Wild Horse Phil'. "

Patches smiled. "That's a good name for him, isn't it?"

"You bet. " He turned and pointed eagerly to the west. "There's anothermountain over there I bet you don't know the name of. "

"Which one do you mean? I see several. "

"That long, black lookin' one. Do you know about it?"

"I'm really afraid that I don't. "

"Well, I'll tell you, " said Billy, proud of his superior knowledge. "That there's Tailholt Mountain. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, and Nick Cambert and Yavapai Joe lives over there. Do you knowabout them?"

The tall man shook his head. "No, I don't believe that I do. "

Little Billy lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper. "Well, I'll tellyou. Only you mus'n't ever say anything 'bout it out loud. Nick andYavapai is cattle thieves. They been a-brandin' our calves, an' Phil, he's goin' to catch 'em at it some day, an' then they'll wish theyhadn't. Phil, he's my pardner, you know. "

"And a fine pardner, too, I'll bet, " returned the stranger, as if notwishing to acquire further information about the men of TailholtMountain. 

"You bet he is, " came the instant response. "Only Jim Reid, he don'tlike him very well. "

"That's too bad, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see, Jim Reid is Kitty's daddy. They live over there. " Hepointed across the meadow to where, a mile away, a light twinkled in thewindow of the Pot-Hook-S ranch house. "Kitty Reid's a mighty nice girl, I tell you, but Jim, he says that there needn't no cow-puncher comearound tryin' to get her, 'cause she's been away to school, you know, an' I think Phil--"

"Whoa! Hold on a minute, sonny, " interrupted Patches hastily. 

"What's the matter?" questioned Little Billy. 

"Why, it strikes me that a boy with a pardner like 'Wild Horse Phil'ought to be mighty careful about how he talked over that pardner'sprivate affairs with a stranger. Don't you think so?"

"Mebby so, " agreed Billy. "But you see, I know that Phil wants Kitty'cause--"

"Sh! What in the world is that?" whispered Patches in great fear, catching his small companion by the arm. 

"That! Don't you know an owl when you hear one? Gee! but you're atenderfoot, ain't you?" Catching sight of the Dean who was coming towardthem, he shouted gleefully. "Uncle Will, Mr. Patches is scared of anowl. What do you know about that; Patches is scared of an owl!"

"Your Aunt Stella wants you, " laughed the Dean. 

And Billy ran off to the house to share his joke on the tenderfoot withhis Aunt Stella and his "pardner, " Phil. 

"I've got to go to town to-morrow, " said the Dean. "I expect you bettergo along and get your trunk, or whatever you have and some sort of anoutfit. You can't work in them clothes. "

Patches answered hesitatingly. "Why, I think I can get along all right, Mr. Baldwin. "

"But you'll want your stuff--your trunk or grip--or whatever you'vegot, " returned the Dean. 

"But I have nothing in Prescott, " said the stranger slowly. 

"You haven't? Well, you'll need an outfit anyway, " persisted thecattleman. 

"Really, I think I can get along for a while, " Patches returneddiffidently. 

The Dean considered for a little; then he said with straightforwardbluntness, but not at all unkindly, "Look here, young man, you ain'tafraid to go to Prescott, are you?"

The other laughed. "Not at all, sir. It's not that. I suppose I musttell you now, though. All the clothes I have are on my back, and Ihaven't a cent in the world with which to buy an outfit, as you callit. "

The Dean chuckled. "So that's it? I thought mebby you was dodgin' thesheriff. If it's just plain broke that's the matter, why you'll go totown with me in the mornin', an' we'll get what you need. I'll hold itout of your wages until it's paid. " As though the matter were settled, he turned back toward the house, adding, "Phil will show you whereyou're to sleep. "

When the foreman had shown the new man to his room, the cowboy askedcasually, "Found the goat ranch, all right, night before last, did you?"

The other hesitated; then he said gravely, "I didn't look for it, Mr. Acton. "

"You didn't look for it?"

"No, sir. "

"Do you mean to say that you spent the night up there on the Dividewithout blankets or anything?"

"Yes, sir, I did. "

"And where did you stop last night?"

"At Simmons. "

"Walked, I suppose?"

The stranger smiled. "Yes. "

"But, look here, " said the puzzled cowboy, "I don't mean to be askingquestions about what is none of my business, but I can't figure it out. If you were coming out here to get a job on the Cross-Triangle, whydidn't you go to Mr. Baldwin in town? Anybody could have pointed him outto you. Or, why didn't you say something to me, when we were talkingback there on the Divide?"

"Why, you see, " explained the other lamely, "I didn't exactly want towork on the Cross-Triangle, or anywhere. "

"But you told Uncle Will that you wanted to work here, and you were onyour way when I met you. "

"Yes, I know, but you see--oh, hang it all, Mr. Acton, haven't you everwanted to do something that you didn't want to do? Haven't you ever beencaught in a corner that you were simply forced to get out of when youdidn't like the only way that would get you out? I don't mean anythingcriminal, " he added, with a short laugh. 

"Yes, I have, " returned the other seriously, "and if you don't mindthere's no handle to my name. Around here I'm just plain Phil, Mr. Patches. "

"Thanks. Neither does Patches need decorating. "

"And now, one more, " said Phil, with his winning smile. "Why in thename of all the obstinate fools that roam at large did you walk out herewhen you must have had plenty of chances to ride?"

"Well, you see, " said Patches slowly, "I fear I can't explain, but itwas just a part of my job. "

"Your job! But you didn't have any job until this afternoon. "

"Oh, yes, I did. I had the biggest kind of a job. You see, that's what Iwas doing on the Divide all night; trying to find some other way to doit. "

"And do you mind telling me what that job is?" asked Phil curiously. 

Patches laughed as though at himself. "I don't know that I can, exactly, " he said. "I think, perhaps, it's just to ride that big bayhorse out there. "

Phil laughed aloud--a hearty laugh of good-fellowship. "You'll do thatall right. "

"Do you think so, really, " asked Patches, eagerly. 

"Sure; I know it. "

"I wish I could be sure, " returned the strange man doubtfully--and thecowboy, wondering, saw that wistful look in his eyes. 

"That big devil is a man's horse, all right, " mused Phil. 

"Why, of course--and that's just it--don't you see?" cried the otherimpulsively. Then, as if he regretted his words, he asked quickly, "Doyou name your horses?"

"Sure, " answered the cowboy; "we generally find something to call them. "

"And have you named the big bay yet?"

Phil laughed. "I named him yesterday, when he broke away as we werebringing the bunch in, and I had to rope him to get him back. "

"And what did you name him?"

"Stranger. "

"Stranger! And why Stranger?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just one of my fool notions, " returned Phil. "Good-night!"

CHAPTER V. 

A BIT OF THE PAST. 

The next morning Mr. Baldwin and Patches set out for town. 

"I suppose, " said the Dean, and a slightly curious tone colored theremark, "that mebby you've been used to automobiles. Buck and Princehere, an' this old buckboard will seem sort of slow to you. "

Patches was stepping into the rig as the Dean spoke. As the young mantook his seat by the cattleman's side, the Dean nodded to Phil who washolding the team. At the signal Phil released the horses' heads andstepped aside, whereupon Buck and Prince, of one mind, looked back overtheir shoulders, made a few playful attempts to twist themselves out ofthe harness, lunged forward their length, stood straight up on theirhind feet, then sprang away as if they were fully determined to landthat buckboard in Prescott within the next fifteen minutes. 

"Did you say slow?" questioned Patches, as he clung to his seat. 

The Dean chuckled and favored his new man with a twinkling glance ofapproval. 

A few seconds later, on the other side of the sandy wash, the Deanskillfully checked their headlong career, with a narrow margin of safetybetween the team and the gate. 

"I reckon we'll get through with less fuss if you'll open it, " he saidto Patches. Then to Buck and Prince: "Whoa! you blamed fools. Can't youstand a minute?"

"Stella's been devilin' me to get a machine ever since Jim Reid gothis, " he continued, while the horses were repeating their preliminarycontortions, and Patches was regaining his seat. "But I told her I'd bescared to death to ride in the fool contraption. "

At this Buck and Prince, in a wild riot of animal strength and spirit, leaped a slight depression in the road with such vigor that the frontwheels of the buckboard left the ground. Patches glanced sidewise at hisemployer, with a smile of delighted appreciation, but said nothing. 

The Dean liked him for that. The Dean always insists that the hardestman in the world to talk to is the one who always has something to sayfor himself. 

"Why, " he continued, with a burst of honest feeling, "if I was ever tobring one of them things home to the Cross-Triangle, I'd be ashamed tolook a horse or steer in the face. "

They dashed through a patch of wild sunflowers that in the bottom landsgrow thick and rank; whirled past the tumble-down corner of an old fencethat enclosed a long neglected garden; and dashed recklessly through adeserted and weed-grown yard. On one side of the road was the ancientbarn and stable, with sagging, weather-beaten roof, leaning walls andbattered doors that hung dejectedly on their rusty and broken hinges. The corral stockade was breached in many places by the years that hadrotted the posts. The old-time windlass pump that, operated by a blindburro, once lifted water for the long vanished herds, was a pathetic oldwreck, incapable now of offering drink to a thirsty sparrow. On theirother hand, beneath the wide branches of giant sycamores and walnuts, and backed by a tangled orchard wilderness, stood an old house, emptyand neglected, as if in the shadowy gloom of the untrimmed trees itawaited, lonely and forlorn, the kindly hand of oblivion. 

"This is the old Acton homestead, " said the Dean quietly, as one mightspeak beside an ancient grave. 

Then as they were driving through the narrow lane that crosses the greatmeadow, he indicated with a nod of his head group of buildings on theother side of the green fields, and something less than a mile to thesouth. 

"That's Jim Reid's place. His iron is the Pot-Hook-S. Jim's stock runson the old Acton range, but the homestead belongs to Phil yet. JimReid's a fine man. " The Dean spoke stoutly, almost as though he weremaking the assertion to convince himself. "Yes, sir, Jim's all right. Good neighbor; good cowman; square as they make 'em. Some folks seem tothink he's a mite over-bearin' an' rough-spoken sometimes, and he's kindof quick at suspicionin' everybody; but Jim and me have always got alongthe best kind. "

Again the Dean was silent, as though he had forgotten the man beside himin his occupation with thoughts that he could not share. 

When they had crossed the valley meadows and, climbing the hill on theother side, could see the road for several miles ahead, the Dean pointedto a black object on the next ridge. 

"There's Jim's automobile now. They're headin' for Prescott, too. Kitty's drivin', I reckon. I tell Stella that that machine and Kitty'slearnin' to run the thing is about all the returns that Jim can show forthe money he's spent in educatin' her. I don't mean, " he added, with aquick look at Patches, as though he feared to be misunderstood, "thatKitty's one of them good-for-nothin' butterfly girls. She ain't that bya good deal. Why, she was raised right here in this neighborhood, an' welove her the same as if she was our own. She can cook a meal or make adress 'bout as well as her mother, an' does it, too; an' she can ride ahorse or throw a rope better'n some punchers I've seen, but--" The Deanstopped, seemingly for want of words to express exactly his thought. 

"It seems to me, " offered Patches abstractedly, "that education, as wecall it, is a benefit only when it adds to one's life. If schooling orculture, or whatever you choose to term it, is permitted to rob one ofthe fundamental and essential elements of life, it is most certainly anevil. "

"That's the idea, " exclaimed the Dean, with frank admiration for hiscompanion's ability to say that which he himself thought. "You say itlike a book. But that's it. It ain't the learnin' an' all the stuff thatKitty got while she was at school that's worryin' us. It's whatshe's likely to lose through gettin' 'em. This here modern, down-to-the-minute, higher livin', loftier sphere, intellectualsupremacy idea is all right if folks'll just keep their feet on theground. 

"You take Stella an' me now. I know we're old fashioned an' slow an' allthat, an' we've seen a lot of hardships since we was married over inSkull Valley where she was born an' raised. She was just a girl then, an' I was only a kid, punchin' steers for a livin'. I suppose we've seenabout as hard times as anybody. At least that's what they would becalled now. But, hell, _we_ didn't think nothin' of it then; we washappy, sir, and we've been happy for over forty year. I tell you, sir, we've lived--just lived every minute, and that's a blamed sight morethan a lot of these higher-cultured, top-lofty, half-dead couples thatmarry and separate, and separate and marry again now-a-days can say. 

"No, sir, 'tain't what a man gets that makes him rich; it's what hekeeps. And these folks that are swoppin' the old-fashioned sort of lovethat builds homes and raises families and lets man and wife worktogether, an' meet trouble together, an' be happy together, an' grow oldbein' happy together--if they're swoppin' all that for these here new, down-to-date ideas of such things, they're makin' a damned poor bargain, accordin' to my way of thinkin'. There is such a thing, sir, aseducatin' a man or woman plumb out of reach of happiness. 

"Look at our Phil, " the Dean continued, for the man beside him was awonderful listener. "There just naturally couldn't be a better all roundman than Phil Acton. He's healthy; don't know what it is to have anhour's sickness; strong as a young bull; clean, honest, square, no badhabits, a fine worker, an' a fine thinker, too--even if he ain't hadmuch schoolin', he's read a lot. Take him any way you like--just as aman, I mean--an' that's the way you got to take 'em--there ain't abetter man that Phil livin'. Yet a lot of these folks would say he'snothin' but a cow-puncher. As for that, Jim Reid ain't much more than acow-puncher himself. I tell you, I've seen cow-punchers that was mightygood men, an' I've seen graduates from them there universities that wasplumb good for nothin'--with no more real man about 'em than there isabout one of these here wax dummies that they hang clothes on in thestore windows. What any self-respectin' woman can see in one of themthat would make her want to marry him is more than I've ever been ableto figger out. "

If the Dean had not been so engrossed in his own thoughts, he would havewondered at the strange effect of his words upon his companion. Theyoung man's face flushed scarlet, then paled as though with suddenillness, and he looked sidewise at the older man with an expression ofshame and humiliation, while his eyes, wistful and pleading, were filledwith pain. Honorable Patches who had won the admiration of those men inthe Cross-Triangle corrals was again the troubled, shamefaced, half-frightened creature whom Phil met on the Divide. 

But the good Dean did not see, and so, encouraged by the other'ssilence, he continued his dissertation. "Of course, I don't mean to saythat education and that sort of thing spoils every man. Now, there'syoung Stanford Manning--"

If the Dean had suddenly fired a gun at Patches, the young man could nothave shown greater surprise and consternation. "Stanford Manning!" hegasped. 

At his tone the Dean turned to look at him curiously. "I mean StanfordManning, the mining engineer, " he explained. "Do you know him?"

"I have heard of him, " Patches managed to reply. 

"Well, " continued the Dean, "he came out to this country about threeyears ago--straight from college--and he has sure made good. He's gotthe education an' culture an' polish an' all that, an' with it he canhold his own among any kind or sort of men livin'. There ain't aman--cow-puncher, miner or anything else--in Yavapai County that don'ttake off his hat to Stanford Manning. "

"Is he in this country now?" asked Patches, with an effort atself-control that the Dean did not notice. 

"No, I understand his Company called him back East about a month ago. Goin' to send him to some of their properties up in Montana, I heard. "

When his companion made no comment, the Dean said reflectively, as Buckand Prince climbed slowly up the grade to the summit of the Divide, "I'll tell you, son, I've seen a good many changes in this country. Ican remember when there wasn't a fence in all Yavapai County--hardly inthe Territory. And now--why the last time I drove over to Skull Valley Igot so tangled up in 'em that I plumb lost myself. When Phil's daddy an'me was youngsters we used to ride from Camp Verde and Flagstaff clean toDate Creek without ever openin' a gate. But I can't see that men changemuch, though. They're good and bad, just like they've always been--an' Ireckon always will be. There's been leaders and weaklin's and justbetwixt and betweens in every herd of cattle or band of horses that everI owned. You take Phil, now. He's exactly like his daddy was beforehim. "

"His father must have been a fine man, " said Patches, with quietearnestness. 

The Dean looked at him with an approving twinkle. "Fine?" For a fewminutes, as they were rounding the turn of the road on the summit of theDivide where Phil and the stranger had met, the Dean looked away towardGranite Mountain. Then, as if thinking aloud, rather than purposelyaddressing his companion, he said, "John Acton--Honest John, aseverybody called him--and I came to this country together when we wereboys. Walked in, sir, with some pioneers from Kansas. We kept in touchwith each other all the while we was growin' to be men; punched cattlefor the same outfits most of the time; even did most of our courtin'together, for Phil's mother an' Stella were neighbors an' great friendsover in Skull Valley. When we'd finally saved enough to get started welocated homesteads close together back there in the Valley, an' as soonas we could get some sort of shacks built we married the girls and setup housekeepin'. Our stock ranged together, of course, but John sort oftook care of the east side of the meadows an' I kept more to the west. When the children came along--John an' Mary had three before Phil, butonly Phil lived--an' the stock had increased an' we'd built some decenthouses, things seemed to be about as fine as possible. Then John went ona note for a man in Prescott. I tried my best to keep him out of it, but, shucks! he just laughed at me. You see, he was one of the besthearted men that ever lived--one of those men, you know, that justnaturally believes in everybody. 

"Well, it wound up after a-while by John losin' mighty nigh everything. We managed to save the homestead, but practically all the stock had togo. An' it wasn't more than a year after that till Mary died. We neverdid know just what was the matter with her--an' after that it seemedlike John never was the same. He got killed in the rodeo that samefall--just wasn't himself somehow. I was with him when he died. 

"Stella and me raised Phil--we don't know any difference between him andone of our own boys. The old homestead is his, of course, but Jim Reid'sstock runs on the old range. Phil's got a few head that he works withmine--a pretty good bunch by now--for he's kept addin' to what hisfather left, an' I've paid him wages ever since he was big enough. Phildon't say much, even to Stella an' me, but I know he's figurin' onfixin' up the old home place some day. "

After a long silence the Dean said again, as if voicing some conclusionof his unspoken thoughts: "Jim Reid is pretty well fixed, you see, an'Kitty bein' the only girl, it's natural, I reckon, that they should haveideas about her future, an' all that. I reckon it's natural, too, thatthe girl should find ranch life away out here so far from anywhere, alittle slow after her three years at school in the East. She never saysit, but somehow you can most always tell what Kitty's thinkin' withouther speakin' a word. "

"I have known people like that, " said Patches, probably because therewas so little that he could say. 

"Yes, an' when you know Kitty, you'll say, like I always have, that ifthere's a man in Yavapai County that wouldn't ride the hoofs off thebest horse in his outfit, night or day, to win a smile from her, heought to be lynched. "

That afternoon in Prescott they purchased an outfit for Patches, and thefollowing day set out for the long return drive to the ranch. 

They had reached the top of the hill at the western end of the meadowlane, when they saw a young woman, on a black horse, riding away fromthe gate that opens from the lane into the Pot-Hook-S meadow pasture, toward the ranch buildings on the farther side of the field. 

As they drove into the yard at home, it was nearly supper time, and themen were coming from the corrals. 

"Kitty's been over all the afternoon, " Little Billy informed thempromptly. "I told her all about you, Patches. She says she's just dyin'to see you. "

Phil joined in the laugh, but Patches fancied that there was a shadow inthe cowboy's usually sunny eyes as the young man looked at him to say, "That big horse of yours sure made me ride some to-day. "

CHAPTER VI. 

THE DRIFT FENCE. 

The education of Honorable Patches was begun without further delay. Because Phil's time was so fully occupied with his four-footed pupils, the Dean himself became the stranger's teacher, and all sorts of oddjobs about the ranch, from cleaning the pig pen to weeding the garden, were the text books. The man balked at nothing. Indeed, he seemed tofind a curious, grim satisfaction in accomplishing the most menial anddisagreeable tasks; and when he made mistakes, as he often did, helaughed at himself with such bitter, mocking humor that the Deanwondered. 

"He's got me beat, " the Dean confided to Stella. "There ain't nothin'that he won't tackle, an' I'm satisfied that the man never did a strokeof work before in his life. But he seems to be always tryin' experimentswith himself, like he expected himself to play the fool one way oranother, an' wanted to see if he would, an' then when he don't he's assurprised and tickled as a kid. "

The Dean himself was not at all above assisting his new man in thoseexperiments, and so it happened that day when Patches had been set torepairing the meadow pasture fence near the lower corrals. 

The Dean, riding out that way to see how his pupil was progressing, noticed a particularly cross-tempered shorthorn bull that had wanderedin from the near-by range to water at the house corral. But Phil and hishelpers were in possession of the premises near the watering trough, andhis shorthorn majesty was therefore even more than usual out of patiencewith the whole world. The corrals were between the bull and Patches, sothat the animal had not noticed the man, and the Dean, chuckling tohimself, and without attracting Patches' attention, quietly drove theill-tempered beast into the enclosure and shut the gate. 

Then, riding around the corral, the Dean called to the young man. WhenPatches stood beside his employer, the cattleman said, "Here's a blamedold bull that don't seem to be feelin' very well. I got him into thecorral all right, but I'm so fat I can't reach him from the saddle. Iwish you'd just halter him with this rope, so I can lead him up to thehouse and let Phil and the boys see what's wrong with him. "

Patches took the rope and started toward the corral gate. "Shall I putit around his neck and make a hitch over his nose, like you do a horse?"he asked, glad for the opportunity to exhibit his newly acquiredknowledge of ropes and horses and things. 

"No, just tie it around his horns, " the Dean answered. "He'll come, allright. "

The bull, seeing a man on foot at the entrance to his prison, rumbled adeep-voiced threat, and pawed the earth with angry strength. 

For an instant, Patches, with his hand on the latch of the gate, pausedto glance from the dangerous-looking animal, that awaited his coming, tothe Dean who sat on his horse just outside the fence. Then he slippedinside the corral and closed the gate behind him. The bull gazed at hima moment as if amazed at the audacity of this mere human, then loweredhis head for the charge. 

"Climb that gate, quick, " yelled the Dean at the critical moment. 

And Patches climbed--not a second too soon. 

From his position of safety he smiled cheerfully at the Dean. "He cameall right, didn't he?"

The Dean's full rounded front and thick shoulders shook with laughter, while Señor Bull dared the man on the gate to come down. 

"You crazy fool, " said the Dean admiringly, when he could speak. "Didn'tyou know any better than to go in there on foot?"

"But you said you wanted him, " returned the chagrined Patches. 

"What I wanted, " chuckled the Dean, "was to see if you had nerve enoughto tackle him. "

"To tell the truth, " returned Patches, with a happy laugh, "that'sexactly what interested me. "

But, while the work assigned to Patches during those first days of hisstay on the Cross-Triangle was chiefly those odd jobs which called forlittle or no experience, his higher education was by no means neglected. A wise and gentle old cow-horse was assigned to him, and the Dean taughthim the various parts of his equipment, their proper use, and how tocare for them. And every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes latein the afternoon, the master found some errand or business that wouldnecessitate his pupil riding with him. When Phil or Mrs. Baldwin wouldinquire about the Dean's kindergarten, as they called it, the Dean wouldlaugh with them, but always he would say stoutly, "Just you wait. He'llbe as near ready for the rodeo this fall as them pupils in thatkindergarten of Phil's. He takes to ridin' like the good Lord had madehim specially for that particular job. He's just a natural-bornhorseman, or I don't know men. He's got the sense, he's got the nerve, an' he's got the disposition. He's goin' to make a top hand in a fewmonths, if"--he always added with twinkling eyes--"he don't get himselfkilled tryin' some fool experiment on himself. "

"I notice just the same that he always has plenty of help in hisexperimentin', " Mrs. Baldwin would return dryly, which saying indictednot only the Dean but Phil and every man on the Cross-Triangle, including Little Billy. 

Then came that day when Patches was given a task that--the Dean assuredhim--is one of the duties of even the oldest and best qualified cowboys. Patches was assigned to the work of fenceriding. But when the Dean rodeout with his pupil early that morning to where the drift fence begins atthe corner of the big pasture, and explained that "riding a fence"meant, in ranch language, looking for breaks and repairing any such whenfound, he did not explain the peculiarities of that particular kind offence. 

"I told him to be sure and be back by night, " he chuckled, as heexplained Patches' absence at dinner to the other members of thehousehold. 

"That was downright mean of you, Will Baldwin, " chided Stella, with herusual motherly interest in the comfort of her boys. "You know the poorfellow will lose himself, sure, out in that wild Tailholt Mountaincountry. "

The boys laughed. 

"We'll find him in the morning, all right, mother, " reassured Phil. 

"He can follow the fence back, can't he?" retorted the Dean. "Or, as faras that goes, old Snip will bring him home. "

"If he knows enough to figger it out, or to let Snip have his head, "said Curly. 

"At any rate, " the Dean maintained, "he'll learn somethin' about thecountry, an' he'll learn somethin' about fences, an' mebby he'll learnsomethin' about horses. An' we'll see whether he can use his own head ornot. There's nothin' like givin' a man a chance to find out things forhimself sometimes. Besides, think what a chance he'll have for some ofhis experiments! I'll bet a yearling steer that when we do see himagain, he'll be tickled to death at himself an' wonderin' how he had thenerve to do it. "

"To do what?" asked Mrs. Baldwin. 

"I don't know what, " chuckled the Dean; "but he's bound to do some foolthing or other just to see if he can, and it'll be somethin' that nobodybut him would ever think of doin', too. "

But Honorable Patches did not get lost that day--that is, not too badlylost. There was a time, though--but that does not belong just here. 

Patches was very well pleased with the task assigned to him thatmorning. For the first time he found himself trusted alone with a horse, on a mission that would keep him the full day in the saddle, and wouldtake him beyond sight of the ranch house. Very bravely he set out, equipped with his cowboy regalia--except the riata, which the Dean, fearing experiments, had, at the last moment, thoughtfully borrowed--andarmed with a fencing tool and staples. He was armed, too, with abrand-new "six-gun" in a spick and span holster, on a shiny belt ofbright cartridges. The Dean had insisted on this, alleging that theembryo cowboy might want it to kill a sick cow or something. 

Patches wondered if he would know a sick cow if he should meet one, orhow he was to diagnose the case to ascertain if she were sick enough tokill. 

The first thing he did, when the Dean was safely out of sight, was todismount and examine his saddle girth. Always your real king of thecattle range is careful for the foundation of his throne. But there wasno awkwardness, now, when he again swung to his seat. The young man wasin reality a natural athlete. His work had already taken the sorenessand stiffness out of his unaccustomed muscles, and he seemed, as theDean had said, a born horseman. And as he rode, he looked about over thesurrounding country with an expression on independence, freedom andfearlessness very different from the manner of the troubled man who hadfaced Phil Acton that night on the Divide. It was as though the spiritof the land was already working its magic within this man, too. Hepatted the holster at his side, felt the handle of the gun, lovinglyfingered the bright cartridges in his shiny belt, leaned sidewise tolook admiringly down at his fringed, leather chaps and spur ornamentedboot heels, and wished for his riata--not forgetting, meanwhile, to scanthe fence for places that might need his attention. 

The guardian angel who cares for the "tenderfoot" was good to Patchesthat day, and favored him with many sagging wires and leaning or brokenposts, so that he could not ride far. Being painstaking andconscientious in his work, he had made not more than four miles by thebeginning of the afternoon. Then he found a break that would occupy himfor two hours at least. With rueful eyes he surveyed the long stretch ofdilapidated fence. It was time, he reflected, that the Dean sent someoneto look after his property, and dismounting, he went to work, forgetting, in his interest in the fencing problem, to insure hishorse's near-by attendance. Now, the best of cow-horses are not abovetaking advantage of their opportunities. Perhaps Snip felt thatfenceriding with a tenderfoot was a little beneath the dignity of hiscattle-punching years. Perhaps he reasoned that this man who was alwaysdoing such strange things was purposely dismissing him. Perhaps he wasthinking of the long watering trough and the rich meadow grass at home. Or, perhaps again, the wise old Snip, feeling the responsibility of hispart in training the Dean's pupil, merely thought to give hisinexperienced master a lesson. However it happened, Patches looked upfrom his work some time later to find himself alone. In consternation, he stood looking about, striving to catch a glimpse of the vanishedSnip. Save a lone buzzard that wheeled in curious circles above his headthere was no living thing in sight. 

As fast as his heavy, leather chaps and high-heeled, spur-ornamentedboots would permit, he ran to the top of a knoll a hundred yards or soaway. The wider range of country that came thus within the circle of hisvision was as empty as it was silent. The buzzard wheeled nearer--thestrange looking creature beneath it seemed so helpless that there mightbe in the situation something of vital interest to the tribe. Evenbuzzards must be about their business. 

There are few things more humiliating to professional riders of therange than to be left afoot; and while Patches was far too much a noviceto have acquired the peculiar and traditional tastes and habits of theclan of which he had that morning felt himself a member, he was, inthis, the equal of the best of them. He thought of himself walkingshamefaced into the presence of the Dean and reporting the loss of thehorse. The animal might be recovered, he supposed, for he was still, Patches thought, inside the pasture which that fence enclosed. Stillthere was a chance that the runaway would escape through some break andnever be found. In any case the vision of the grinning cowboys was notan attractive one. But at least, thought the amateur cowboy, he wouldfinish the work entrusted to him. He might lose a horse for the Dean, but the Dean's fence should be repaired. So he set to work with a will, and, finishing that particular break, set out on foot to follow thefence around the field and so back to the lane that would lead him tothe buildings and corrals of the home ranch. 

For an hour he trudged along, making hard work of it in his chaps, boots, and spurs, stopping now and then to drive a staple or brace apost. The country was growing wilder and more broken, with cedar timberon the ridges and here and there a pine. Occasionally he could catch aglimpse of the black, forbidding walls of Tailholt Mountain. But Patchesdid not know that it was Tailholt. He only thought that he knew in whichdirection the home ranch lay. It seemed to him that it was a long, longway to the corner of the field--it must be a big pasture, indeed. Theafternoon was well on when he paused on the summit of another ridge torest. It, seemed to him that he had never in all his life been quite sowarm. His legs ached. He was tired and thirsty and hungry. It was sostill that the silence hurt, and that fence corner was nowhere in sight. He could not, now reach home before dark, even should he turn back;which, he decided grimly, he would not do. He would ride that fence ifhe camped three nights on the journey. 

Suddenly he sprang to his feet, waving his hat, hallooing and yellinglike a madman. Two horsemen were riding on the other side of the fence, along the slope of the next ridge, at the edge of the timber. In vainPatches strove to attract their attention. If they heard him, they gaveno sign, and presently he saw them turn, ride in among the cedars, anddisappear. In desperation he ran along the fence, down the hill, acrossthe narrow little valley, and up the ridge over which the riders hadgone. On the top of the ridge he stopped again, to spend the last of hisbreath in another series of wild shouts. But there was no answer. Norcould he be sure, even, which way the horsemen had gone. 

Dropping down in the shade of a cedar, exhausted by his strenuousexertion, and wet with honest perspiration, he struggled for breath andfanned his hot face with his hat. Perhaps he even used some of thecowboy words that he had heard Curly and Bob employ when Little Billywas not around After the noise of his frantic efforts, the silence wasmore oppressive than ever. The Cross-Triangle ranch house was, somewhere, endless miles away. 

Then a faint sound in the narrow valley below him caught his ear. Turning quickly, he looked back the way he had come. Was he dreaming, orwas it all just a part of the magic of that wonderful land? A youngwoman was riding toward him--coming at an easy swinging lope--and, following, at the end of a riata, was the cheerfully wise andphilosophic Snip. 

Patches' first thought--when he had sufficiently recovered I from hisamazement to think at all--was that the woman rode as he had never seena woman ride before. Dressed in the divided skirt of corduroy, theloose, soft, gray shirt, gauntleted gloves, mannish felt hat, and boots, usual to Arizona horsewomen, she seemed as much at ease in the saddle asany cowboy in the land; and, indeed, she was. 

As she came up the slope, the man in the shade of the cedar saw that shewas young. Her lithe, beautifully developed body yielded to the movementof the spirited horse she rode with the unspoiled grace of health andyouth. Still nearer, and he saw her clear cheeks glowing with theexercise and excitement, her soft, brown hair under the wide brim of thegray sombrero, and her dark eyes, shining with the fun of her adventure. Then she saw him, and smiled; and Patches remembered what the Dean hadsaid: "If there's a man in Yavapai County who wouldn't ride the hoofsoff the best horse in his outfit to win a smile from Kitty Reid, heought to be lynched. "

As the man stood, hat in hand, she checked her horse, and, in a voicethat matched the smile so full of fun and the clean joy of livinggreeted him. 

"You are Mr. Honorable Patches, are you not?"

Patches bowed. "Miss Reid, I believe?"

She frankly looked her surprise. "Why, how did you know me?"

"Your good friend, Mr. Baldwin, described you, " he smiled. 

She colored and laughed to hide her slight embarrassment. "The dear oldDean is prejudiced, I fear. "

"Prejudiced he may be, " Patches admitted, "but his judgement isunquestionable. And, " he added gently, as her face grew grave and herchin lifted slightly, "his confidence in any man might be considered anendorsement, don't you think?"

"Indeed, yes, " she agreed heartily, her slight coldness vanishinginstantly. "The Dean and Stella told me all about you this afternoon, orI should not have ventured to introduce myself. I am very pleased tomeet you, Mr. Patches, " she finished with a mock formality that wasdelightful. 

"And I am delighted to meet you, Miss Reid, for so many reasons that Ican't begin to tell you of them, " he responded laughing. "And now, may Iask what good magic brings you like a fairy in the story book to therescue of a poor stranger in the hour of his despair? Where did you findmy faithless Snip? How did you know where to find me? Where is theCross-Triangle Ranch? How many miles is it to the nearest water? Is itpossible for me to get home in time for supper?" Looking down at him shelaughed as only Kitty Reid could laugh. 

"You're making fun of me, " he charged; "they all do. And I don't blamethem in the least; I have been laughing at myself all day. "

"I'll answer your last question first, " she returned. "Yes, you caneasily reach the Cross-Triangle in time for supper, if you start atonce. I will explain the magic as we ride. "

"You are going to show me the way?" he cried eagerly, starting towardhis horse. 

"I really think it would be best, " she said demurely. 

"Now I know you are a good fairy, or a guardian angel, or something likethat, " he returned, setting his foot in the stirrup to mount. Thensuddenly he paused, with, "Wait a minute, please. I nearly forgot. " Andvery carefully he examined the saddle girth to see that it was tight. 

"If you had remembered to throw your bridle rein over Snip's head whenyou left him, you wouldn't have needed a guardian angel this time, " shesaid. 

He looked at her blankly over the patient Snip's back. 

"And so that was what made him go away? I knew I had done some sillything that I ought not. That's the only thing about myself that I amalways perfectly sure of, " he added as he mounted. "You see I can alwaysdepend upon myself to make a fool of myself. It was that bad place inthe fence that did it. " He pulled up his horse suddenly as they werestarting. "And that reminds me; there is one thing you positively musttell me before I can go a foot, even toward supper. How much farther isit to the corner of this field?"

She looked at him in pretty amazement. "To the corner of this field?"

"Yes, I knew, of course, that if I followed the fence it was bound tolead me around the field and so back to where I started. That's why Ikept on; I thought I could finish the job and get home, even if Snip didcompel me to ride the fence on foot. "

"But don't you know that this is a drift fence?" she asked, her eyesdancing with fun. 

"That's what the Dean called it, " he admitted. "But if it's driftinganywhere, it's going end on. Perhaps that's why I couldn't catch thecorner. "

"But there is no corner to a drift fence, " she cried. 

"No corner?"

She shook her head as if not trusting herself to speak. 

"And it doesn't go around anything--there is no field?" Again she shookher head. 

"Just runs away out in the country somewhere and stops?"

She nodded. "It must be eighteen or twenty miles from here to the end. "

"Well, of all the silly fences!" he exclaimed, looking away to themountain peaks toward which he had been so laboriously making his way. "Honestly, now, do you think that is any way for a respectable fence toact? And the Dean told me to be sure and get home before dark!"

Then they laughed together--laughed until their horses must havewondered. 

As they rode on, she explained the purpose of the drift fence, and howit came to an end so many miles away and so far from water that thecattle do not usually find their way around it. 

"And now the magic!" he said. "You have made a most unreasonable, unconventional and altogether foolish fence appear reasonable, properand perfectly sane. Please explain your coming with Snip to my relief. "

"Which was also unreasonable, unconventional and altogether foolish?"she questioned. 

"Which was altogether wonderful, unexpected and delightful, " heretorted. 

"It is all perfectly simple, " she explained. "Being rather--" Shehesitated. "Well, rather sick of too much of nothing at all, you know, Iwent over to the Cross-Triangle right after dinner to visit a littlewith Stella--professionally. "

"Professionally?" he asked. 

She nodded brightly. "For the good of my soul. Stella's a famous souldoctor. The best ever except one, and she lives far away--away back eastin Cleveland, Ohio. "

"Yes, I know her, too, " he said gravely. 

And while they laughed at the absurdity of his assertion, they did notknow until long afterward how literally true it was. 

"Of course, I knew about you, " she continued. "Phil told me how youtried to ride that unbroken horse, the last time he was at our house. Phil thinks you are quite a wonderful man. "

"No doubt, " said Patches mockingly. "I must have given a remarkableexhibition on that occasion. " He was wondering just how much Phil hadtold her. 

"And so, you see, " she continued, "I couldn't very well help beinginterested in the welfare of the stranger who had come among us. Besides, our traditional western hospitality demanded it; don't youthink?"

"Oh, certainly, certainly. You could really do nothing less than inquireabout me, " he agreed politely. 

"And so, you see, Stella quite restored my soul health; or at leastafforded me temporary relief. "

He met the quizzing, teasing, laughing look in her eyes blankly. "Youare making fun of me again, " he said humbly. "I know I ought to laugh atmyself, but--"

"Why, don't you understand?" she cried. "Dr. Stella administered agenerous dose of talk about the only new thing that has happened in thisneighborhood for months and months and months. "

"Meaning me?" he asked. 

"Well, are you not?" she retorted. 

"I guess I am, " he smiled. "Well, and then what?"

"Why, then I came away, feeling much better, of course. "

"Yes?"

"I was feeling so much better I decided I would go home a roundaboutway; perhaps to the top of Black Hill; perhaps up Horse Wash, where Imight meet father, who would be on his way home from Fair Oaks where hewent this morning. "

"I see. "

"Well, so I met Snip, who was on his way to the Cross-Triangle. I knew, of course, that old Snip would be your horse. " She smiled, as though torob her words of any implied criticism of his horsemanship. 

"Exactly, " he agreed understandingly. 

"And I was afraid that something might have happened; though I couldn'tsee how that could be, either, with Snip. And so I caught him--"

He interrupted eagerly. "How?"

"Why, with my riata, " she returned, in a matter-of-fact tone, wonderingat his question. 

"You caught my horse with your riata?" he repeated slowly. 

"And pray how should I have caught him?" she asked. 

"But--but, didn't he _run_?"

She laughed. "Of course he ran. They all do that once they get away fromyou. But Snip never could outrun my Midnight, " she retorted. 

He shook his head slowly, looking at her with frank admiration, asthough, for the first time, he understood what a rare and wonderfulcreature she was. 

"And you can ride and rope like that?" he said doubtfully. 

She flushed hotly, and there was a spark of fire in the brown eyes. "Isuppose you are thinking that I am coarse and mannish and all that, " shesaid with spirit. "By your standards, Mr. Patches, I should have riddenback to the house, screaming, ladylike, for help. "

"No, no, " he protested. "That's not fair. I was thinking how wonderfulyou are. Why, I would give--what wouldn't I give to be able to do athing like that!"

There was no mistaking his earnestness, and Kitty was all sunshineagain, pardoning him with a smile. 

"You see, " she explained, "I have always lived here, except my threeyears at school. Father taught me to use a riata, as he taught me toride and shoot, because--well--because it's all a part of this life, andvery useful sometimes; just as it is useful to know about hotels andtime-tables and taxicabs, in that other part of the world. "

"I understand, " he said gently. "It was stupid of me to notice it. I begyour pardon for interrupting the story of my rescue. You had just ropedSnip while he was doing his best to outrun Midnight--simple and easy ascalling a taxi--'Number Two Thousand Euclid Avenue, please'--and thereyou are. "

"Oh, do you know Cleveland?" she cried. 

For an instant he was confused. Then he said easily, "Everybody hasheard of the famous Euclid Avenue. But how did you guess where Snip hadleft me?"

"Why, Stella had told me that you were riding the drift fence, " sheanswered, tactfully ignoring the evasion of her question. "I justfollowed the fence. So there was no magic about it at all, you see. "

"I'm not so sure about the magic, " he returned slowly. 

"This is such a wonderful country--to me--that one can never be quitesure about anything. At least, I can't. But perhaps that's because I amsuch a new thing. "

"And do you like it?" she asked, frankly curious about him. 

"Like being a new thing?" he parried. "Yes and No. "

"I mean do you like this wonderful country, as you call it?"

"I admire the people who belong to it tremendously, " he returned. "Inever met such men before--or such women, " he finished with a smile. 

"But, do you like it?" she persisted. "Do you like the life--yourwork--would you be satisfied to live here always?"

"Yes and No, " he answered again, hesitatingly. 

"Oh, well, " she said, with, he thought, a little bitterness andrebellion, "it doesn't really matter to you whether you like it or not, because _you_ are a man. If you are not satisfied with your environment, you can leave it--go away somewhere else--make yourself a part of someother life. "

He shook his head, wondering a little at her earnestness. "That does notalways follow. Can a man, just because he is a man, always have or dojust what he likes?"

"If he's strong enough, " she insisted. "But a woman must always do whatother people like. "

He was sure now that she was speaking rebelliously. 

She continued, "Can't you, if you are not satisfied with this life here, go away?"

"Yes, but not necessarily to any life I might desire. Perhaps somesheriff wants me. Perhaps I am an escaped convict. Perhaps--oh, athousand things. "

She laughed aloud in spite of her serious mood. "What nonsense!"

"But, why nonsense? What do you and your friends know of me?"

"We know that you are not that kind of a man, " she retorted warmly, "because"--she hesitated--"well, because you are _not_ that sort of aman. "

"Are you sure you don't mean because I am not man enough to make myselfwanted very badly, even by the sheriff?" he asked, and Kitty could notmistake the bitterness in his voice. 

"Why, Mr. Patches!" she cried. "How could you think I meant such athing? Forgive me! I was only wondering foolishly what you, a man ofeducation and culture, could find in this rough life that would appealto you in any way. My curiosity is unpardonable, I suppose, but you mustknow that we are all wondering why you are here. "

"I do not blame you, " he returned, with that self-mocking smile, asthough he were laughing at himself. "I told you I could always bedepended upon to make a fool of myself. You see I am doing it now. Idon't mind telling you this much--that I am here for the same reasonthat you went to visit Mrs. Baldwin this afternoon. "

"For the good of your soul?" she asked gently. 

"Exactly, " he returned gravely. "For the good of my soul. "

"Well, then, Mr. Honorable Patches, here's to your soul's good health!"she cried brightly, checking her horse and holding out her hand. "Wepart here. You can see the Cross-Triangle buildings yonder. I go thisway. "

He looked his pleasure, as he clasped her hand in hearty understandingof the friendship offered. 

"Thank you, Miss Reid. I still maintain that the Dean's judgment isunquestionable. "

She was not at all displeased with his reply. 

"By the way, " she said, as if to prove her friendship. "I suppose youknow what to expect from Uncle Will and the boys when they learn of yourlittle adventure?"

"I do, " he answered, as if resigned to anything. 

"And do you enjoy making fun for them?"

"I assure you, Miss Reid, I am very human. "

"Well, then, why don't you turn the laugh on them?"

"But how?"

"They are expecting you to get into some sort of a scrape, don't youthink?"

"They are always expecting that. And, " he added, with that droll touchin his voice, "I must say I rarely disappoint them. "

"I suspect, " she continued, thoughtfully, "that the Dean purposely didnot explain that drift fence to you. "

"He has established precedents that would justify my thinking so, I'lladmit. "

"Well, then, why don't you ride cheerfully home and report the progressof your work as though nothing had happened?"

"You mean that you won't tell?" he cried. 

She nodded gaily. "I told them this afternoon that it wasn't fair foryou to have no one but Stella on your side. "

"What a good Samaritan you are! You put me under an everlastingobligation to you. "

"All right, " she laughed. "I'm glad you feel that way about it. I shallhold that debt against you until some day when I am in dreadful need, and then I shall demand payment in full. Good-by!"

And once again Kitty had spoken, in jest, words that held for them both, had they but known, great significance. 

Patches watched until she was out of sight. Then he made his wayhappily to the house to receive, with a guilty conscience but with alight heart, congratulations and compliments upon his safe return. 

That evening Phil disappeared somewhere, in the twilight. And a littlelater Jim Reid rode into the Cross-Triangle dooryard. 

The owner of the Pot-Hook-S was a big man, tall and heavy, outspoken andsomewhat gruff, with a manner that to strangers often seemed near tooverbearing. When Patches was introduced, the big cattleman looked himover suspiciously, spoke a short word in response to Patches'commonplace, and abruptly turned his back to converse with thebetter-known members of the household. 

For an hour, perhaps, they chatted about matters of general interest, asneighbors will; then the caller arose to go, and the Dean walked withhim to his horse. When the two men were out of hearing of the people onthe porch Reid asked in a low voice, "Noticed any stock that didn't lookright lately, Will?"

"No. You see, we haven't been ridin' scarcely any since the Fourth. Philand the boys have been busy with the horses every day, an' this new mandon't count, you know. "

"Who is he, anyway?" asked Reid bluntly. 

"I don't know any more than that he says his name is Patches. "

"Funny name, " grunted Jim. 

"Yes, but there's a lot of funny names, Jim, " the Dean answered quietly. "I don't know as Patches is any funnier than Skinner or Foote or Hogg, or a hundred other names, when you come to think about it. We ain'tjust never happened to hear it before, that's all. "

"Where did you pick him up?"

"He just came along an' wanted work. He's green as they make 'em, butwillin', an' he's got good sense, too. "

"I'd go slow 'bout takin' strangers in, " said the big man bluntly. 

"Shucks!" retorted the Dean. "Some of the best men I ever had wasstrangers when I hired 'em. Bein' a stranger ain't nothin' against aman. You and me would be strangers if we was to go many miles fromWilliamson Valley. Patches is a good man, I tell you. I'll stand forhim, all right. Why, he's been out all day, alone, ridin' the driftfence, just as good any old-timer. "

"The drift fence!"

"Yes, it's in pretty bad shape in places. "

"Yes, an' I ran onto a calf over in Horse Wash, this afternoon, not fourhundred yards from the fence on the Tailholt side, fresh-branded withthe Tailholt iron, an' I'll bet a thousand dollars it belongs to aCross-Triangle cow. "

"What makes you think it was mine?" asked the Dean calmly. 

"Because it looked mighty like some of your Hereford stock, an' becauseI came on through the Horse Wash gate, an' about a half mile on thisside, I found one of your cows that had just lost her calf. "

"They know we're busy an' ain't ridin' much, I reckon, " mused the Dean. 

"If I was you, I'd put some hand that I knew to ridin' that driftfence, " returned Jim significantly, as he mounted his horse to go. 

"You're plumb wrong, Jim, " returned the Dean earnestly. "Why, the mandon't know a Cross-Triangle from a Five-Bar, or a Pot-Hook-S. "

"It's your business, Will; I just thought I'd tell you, " growled Reid. "Good-night!"

"Good-night, Jim! I'm much obliged to you for ridin' over. "

CHAPTER VII. 

THINGS THAT ENDURE. 

When Kitty Reid told Patches that it was her soul sickness, from toomuch of nothing at all, that had sent her to visit Mrs. Baldwin thatafternoon, she had spoken more in earnest than in jest. More than this, she had gone to the Cross-Triangle hoping to meet the stranger, of whomshe had heard so much. Phil had told Kitty that she would like Patches. As Phil had put it, the man spoke her language; he could talk to her ofpeople and books and those things of which the Williamson Valley folkknew so little. 

But as she rode slowly homeward after leaving Patches, she found herselfof two minds regarding the incident. She had enjoyed meeting the man; hehad interested and amused her; had taken her out of herself, for she wasnot slow to recognize that the man really did belong to that world whichwas so far from the world of her childhood. And she was glad for thelittle adventure that, for one afternoon, at least, had broken the dull, wearying monotony of her daily life. But the stranger, by the very factof his belonging to that other world, had stimulated her desire forthose things which in her home life and environment she so greatlymissed. He had somehow seemed to magnify the almost unbearablecommonplace narrowness of her daily routine. He had made her even morerestless, disturbed and dissatisfied. It had been to her as when one insome foreign country meets a citizen from one's old home town. And forthis Kitty was genuinely sorry. She did not wish to feel as she didabout her home and the things that made the world of those she loved. She had tried honestly to still the unrest and to deny the longing. Shehad wished many times, since her return from the East, that she hadnever left her home for those three years in school. And yet, thoseyears had meant much to her; they had been wonderful years; but theyseemed, somehow--now that they were past and she was home again--to havebrought her only that unrest and longing. 

From the beginning of her years until that first great crisis in herlife--her going away to school--this world into which she was born hadbeen to Kitty an all-sufficient world. The days of her childhood hadbeen as carefree and joyous, almost, as the days of the young things ofher father's roaming herds. As her girlhood years advanced, under hermother's wise companionship and careful teaching, she had grown into hershare of the household duties and into a knowledge of woman's part inthe life to which she belonged, as naturally as her girlish form had puton the graces of young womanhood. The things that filled the days of herfather and mother, and the days of her neighbors and friends, had filledher days. The things that were all in all to those she loved had beenall in all to her. And always, through those years, from her earliestchildhood to her young womanhood, there was Phil, her playmate, schoolmate, protector, hero, slave. That Phil should be her boysweetheart and young man lover had seemed as natural to Kitty as herrelation to her parents. There had never been anyone else but Phil. There never could be--she was sure, in those days--anyone else. 

In Kitty's heart that afternoon, as she rode, so indifferent to the lifethat called from every bush and tree and grassy hill and distantmountain, there was sweet regret, deep and sincere, for those years thatwere now, to her, so irrevocably gone. Kitty did not know how impossibleit was for her to ever wholly escape the things that belonged to herchildhood and youth. Those things of her girlhood, out of which herheart and soul had been fashioned, were as interwoven in the fabric ofher being as the vitality, strength and purity of the clean, wholesome, outdoor life of those same years were wrought into the glowing healthand vigor and beauty of her physical womanhood. 

And then had come those other years--the maturing, ripening years--when, from the simple, primitive and enduring elements of life, she had goneto live amid complex, cultivated and largely fanciful standards andvalues. In that land of Kitty's birth a man is measured by the measureof his manhood; a woman is ranked by the quality of her womanhood. Strength and courage, sincerity, honesty, usefulness--these were theprime essentials of the man life that Kitty had, in those years of hergirlhood, known; and these, too, in their feminine expressions, were theessentials of the woman life. But from these the young woman had goneto be educated in a world where other things are of first importance. She had gone to be taught that these are not the essential elements ofmanhood and womanhood. Or, at least, if she was not to be deliberatelyso taught, these things would be so ignored and neglected and overlookedin her training, that the effect on her character would be the same. Inthat new world she was to learn that men and women are not to bemeasured by the standards of manhood and womanhood--that they were to berated, not for strength, but for culture; not for courage, but forintellectual cleverness; not for sincerity, but for manners; not forhonesty, but for success; not for usefulness, but for social position, which is most often determined by the degree of uselessness. It was asthough the handler of gems were to attach no value whatever to theweight of the diamond itself, but to fix the worth of the stone whollyby the cutting and polish that the crystal might receive. 

At first, Kitty had been excited, bewildered and fascinated by theglittering, sparkling, ever-changing, many-faceted life. Then she hadgrown weary and homesick. And then, as the months had passed, and shehad been drawn more and more by association and environment into theworld of down-to-dateism she, too, began to regard the sparkle of thediamond as the determining factor in the value of the gem. And when theyoung woman had achieved this, they called her education finished, andsent her back to the land over which Granite Mountain, gray and grim andfortress-like, with its ranks of sentinel bills? keeps enduring andunchanging watch. 

During those first glad days of Kitty's homecoming she had been eagerlyinterested in everything. The trivial bits of news about the smalldoings of her old friends had been delightful. The home life, with itssimple routine and its sweet companionship, had been restful andsatisfying. The very scenes of her girlhood had seemed to welcome herwith a spirit of genuineness and steadfastness that had made her feel asone entering a safe home harbor after a long and adventurous voyage tofar-away and little-known lands. And Phil, in the virile strength of hismanhood, in the simple bigness of his character, and in his enduring andunchanging love, had made her feel his likeness to the primitive land ofhis birth. 

But when the glad excitement of those first days of her return werepast, when the meetings with old friends were over and the tales oftheir doings exhausted, then Kitty began to realize what her education, as they called it, really meant. The lessons of those three years werenot to be erased from her life as one would erase a mistake in a problemor a misspelled word. The tastes, habits of thought and standards oflife, the acquirement of which constituted her culture, would not bedenied. It was inevitable that there should be a clash between theclaims of her home life and the claims of that life to which she nowfelt that she also belonged. 

However odious comparisons may be, they are many times inevitable. Loyally, Kitty tried to magnify the worth of those things that in hergirlhood had been the supreme things in her life, but, try as she might, they were now, in comparison with those things which her culture placedfirst, of trivial importance. The virile strength and glowing health ofPhil's unspoiled manhood--beautiful as the vigorous life of one of thewild horses from which he had his nickname--were overshadowed, now, bythe young man's inability to clothe his splendid body in that fashionwhich her culture demanded. His simple and primitive views of life--asnatural as the instinct which governs all creatures in hisGod-cultivated world--were now unrefined, ignoble, inelegant. His finenature and unembarrassed intelligence, which found in the wealth ofrealities amid which he lived abundant food for his intellectual life, and which enabled him to see clearly, observe closely and think withsuch clean-cut directness, beside the intellectuality of those schooledin the thoughts of others, appeared as ignorance and illiteracy. Thevery fineness and gentleness of his nature were now the distinguishingmarks of an uncouth and awkward rustic. 

With all her woman heart Kitty had fought against these comparisons--andcontinued to make them. Everything in her nature that belonged toGranite Mountain--that was, in short, the product of that land--answeredto Phil's call, as instinctively as the life of that land calls andanswers Its mating calls. Everything that she had acquired in thosethree years of a more advanced civilization denied and repulsed him. Andnow her meeting with Patches had stirred the warring forces to renewedactivity, and in the distracting turmoil of her thoughts she foundherself hating the land she loved, loathing the life that appealed toher with such insistent power, despising those whom she so dearlyesteemed and honored, and denying the affection of which she was proudwith a true woman's tender pride. 

Kitty was aroused from her absorption by the shrill boyish yells of hertwo younger brothers, who, catching sight of their sister from the topof one of the low hills that edge the meadow bottom lands, were chargingrecklessly down upon her. 

As the clatter and rumble of those eight flying hoofs drew nearer andnearer, Midnight, too, "came alive, " as the cowboys say, and tossed hishead and pranced with eager impatience. 

"Where in the world have you been all the afternoon?" demanded Jimmy, with twelve-year-old authority, as his pony slid to a halt within a footor two of his sister's horse. 

And, "We wanted you to go with us, to see our coyote traps, " reprovedConny--two years younger than his brother--as his pinto executed a likemaneuver on the other side of the excited Midnight. 

"And where is Jack?" asked the young woman mischievously, as shesmilingly welcomed the vigorous lads. 

"Couldn't he help?"

Jack was the other member of the Reid trio of boys--a lustyfour-year-old who felt himself equal to any venture that interested hisbrothers. 

Jimmy grinned. "Aw, mama coaxed him into the kitchen with something toeat while me and Conny sneaked down to the corral and saddled up andbeat it. "

Big sister's dark eyebrows arched in shocked inquiry, "_Me_ and Conny?"

"That is, Conny and I, " amended Jimmy, with good-natured tolerance ofhis sister's whims. 

"You see, Kitty, " put in Conny, "this hero coyote traps pin' ain't justfun. It's business. Dad's promised us three dollars for every scalp, an'we're aimin' to make a stake. We didn't git a blamed thing, to-day, though. "

Sister's painful and despairing expression was blissfully ignored asJimmy stealthily flicked the long romal at the end of his bridle reinsagainst Midnight's flank. 

"Gee!" observed the tickled youngster, as Kitty gave all her attentionto restraining the fretting and indignant horse, "ol' Midnight is suresome festive, ain't he?"

"I'll race you both to the big gate, " challenged Kitty. 

"For how much?" demanded Jimmy quickly. 

"You got to give us fifty yards start, " declared Conny, leaning forwardin his saddle and shortening his reins. 

"If I win, you boys go straight to bed to-night, when it's time, withoutfussing, " said Kitty, "and I'll give you to that oak bush yonder. "

"Good enough! You're on!" they shouted in chorus, and loped away. 

As they passed the handicap mark, another shrill, defiant yell camefloating back to where Kitty sat reining in her impatient Midnight. Atthe signal, the two ponies leaped from a lope into a full run, whileKitty loosed the restraining rein and the black horse stretched away inpursuit. Spurs ring, shouting, entreating, the two lads urged theirsturdy mounts toward the goal, and the pintos answered gamely with allthat they had. Over knolls and washes, across arroyos and gullies theyflew, sure-footed and eager, neck and neck, while behind them, drawingnearer and nearer, came the black, with body low, head outstretched andlimbs that moved apparently with the timed regularity and driving powerof a locomotive's piston rod. As she passed them, Kitty shouted a merry"Come on!" which they answered with redoubled exertion and another yellof hearty boyish admiration for the victorious Midnight and hisbeautiful rider. 

"Doggone that black streak!" exclaimed Jimmy, his eyes dancing with funas they pulled up at the corral gate. 

"He opens and shuts like a blamed ol' jack rabbit, " commented Conny. "Seemed like we was just a-sittin' still watchin' you go by. "

Kitty laughed, teasingly, and unconsciously slipped into the vernacularas she returned, "Did you kids think you were a-horseback?"

"You just wait, Miss, " retorted the grinning Jimmy, as he opened the biggate. "I'll get a horse some day that'll run circles around that ol'black scound'el. "

And then, as they dismounted at the door of the saddle room in the bigbarn, he added generously, "You scoot on up to the house, Kitty; I'lltake care of Midnight. It must be gettin' near supper time, an' I'mhungry enough to eat a raw dog. "

At which alarming statement Kitty promptly scooted, stopping only longenough at the windmill pump for a cool, refreshing drink. 

Mrs. Reid, with sturdy little Jack helping, was already busy in thekitchen. She was a motherly woman, rather below Kitty's height, andinclined somewhat to a comfortable stoutness. In her face was the gentlestrength and patience of those whose years have been spent inhome-making, without the hardness that is sometimes seen in the faces ofthose whose love is not great enough to soften their tail. One knew bythe light in her eyes whenever she spoke of Kitty, or, indeed, wheneverthe girl's name was mentioned, how large a place her only daughter heldin her mother heart. 

While the two worked together at their homely task, the girl related intrivial detail the news of the neighborhood, and repeated faithfully thetalk she had had with the mistress of the Cross-Triangle, answering allher mother's questions, replying with careful interest to the olderwoman's comments, relating all that was known or guessed, or observedregarding the stranger. But of her meeting with Patches, Kitty saidlittle; only that she had met him as she was coming home. All during theevening meal, too, Patches was the principal topic of the conversation, though Mr. Reid, who had arrived home just in time for supper, saidlittle. 

When supper was over, and the evening work finished, Kitty sat on theporch in the twilight, looking away across the wide valley meadows, toward the light that shone where the walnut trees about theCross-Triangle ranch house made a darker mass in the gathering gloom. Her father had gone to call upon the Dean. The men were at thebunk-house, from which their voices came low and indistinct. Within thehouse the mother was coaxing little Jack to bed. Jimmy and Conny, at thefarther end of the porch, were planning an extensive campaign againstcoyotes, and investing the unearned profits of their proposed industry. 

Kitty's thoughts were many miles away. In that bright and stirringlife--so far from the gloomy stillness of her home land, where she satso alone--what gay pleasures held her friends? Amid what brilliantscenes were they spending the evening, while she sat in her dark andsilent world alone? As her memory pictured the lights, the stirringmovement, the music, the merry-voiced talk, the laughter, the gaiety, the excitement, the companionship of those whose lives were so full ofinterest, her heart rebelled at the dull emptiness of her days. As shewatched the evening dusk deepen into the darkness of the night, and theoutlines of the familiar landscape fade and vanish in the thickeninggloom, she felt the dreary monotony of the days and years that were tocome, blotting out of her life all tone and color and forms ofbrightness and beauty. 

Then she saw, slowly emerging from the shadows of the meadow below, adarker shadow--mysterious, formless--that seemed, as it approached, toshape itself out of the very darkness through which it came, until, still dim and indistinct, a horseman was opening the meadow gate. Beforethe cowboy answered Jimmy's boyish "Hello!" Kitty knew that it was Phil. 

The young woman's first impulse was to retreat to the safe seclusion ofher own room. But, even as she arose to her feet, she knew how thatwould hurt the man who had always been so good to her; and so she wentgenerously down the walk to meet him where he would dismount and leavehis horse. 

"Did you see father?" she asked, thinking as she spoke how little therewas for them to talk about. 

"Why, no. What's the matter?" he returned quickly, pausing as if readyto ride again at her word. 

She laughed a little at his manner. "There is nothing the matter. Hejust went over to see the Dean, that's all. "

"I must have missed him crossing the meadow, " returned Phil. "He alwaysgoes around by the road. "

Then, when he stood beside her, he added gently, "But there is somethingthe matter, Kitty. What is it? Lonesome for the bright lights?"

That was always Phil's way, she thought. He seemed always to knowinstinctively her every mood and wish. 

"Perhaps I was a little lonely, " she admitted. "I am glad that youcame. "

Then they were at the porch, and her ambitious brothers were tellingPhil in detail their all-absorbing designs against the peace of thecoyote tribe, and asking his advice. Mrs. Reid came to sit with thema-while, and again the talk followed around the narrow circle of theirlives, until Kitty felt that she could bear no more. Then Mrs. Reid, more merciful than she knew, sent the boys to bed and retired to her ownroom. 

"And so you are tired of us all, and want to go back, " mused Phil, breaking one of the long, silent periods that in these days seemed sooften to fall upon them when they found themselves alone. 

"That's not quite fair, Phil, " she returned gently. "You know it's notthat. "

"Well, then, tired of this"--his gesture indicated the sweep of thewide land--"tired of what we are and what we do?"

The girl stirred uneasily, but did not speak. 

"I don't blame you, " he continued, as if thinking aloud. "It must seemmighty empty to those who don't really know it. "

"And don't I know it?" challenged Kitty. "You seem to forget that I wasborn here--that I have lived here almost as many years as you. "

"But just the same you don't know, " returned Phil gently. "You see, dear, you knew it as a girl, the same as I did when I was a boy. Butnow--well, I know it as a man, and you as a woman know something thatyou think is very different. "

Again that long silence lay a barrier between them. Then Kitty made theeffort, hesitatingly. "Do you love the life so very, very much, Phil?"

He answered quickly. "Yes, but I could love any life that suited you. "

"No--no, " she returned hurriedly, "that's not--I mean--Phil, why are youso satisfied here? There is so little for a man like you. "

"So little!" His voice told her that her words had stung. "I told youthat you did not know. Why, everything that a man has a right to want ishere. All that life can give anywhere is here--I mean all of life thatis worth having. But I suppose, " he finished lamely, "that it's hard foryou to see it that way--now. It's like trying to make a city manunderstand why a fellow is never lonesome just because there's no crowdaround. I guess I love this life and am satisfied with it just as thewild horses over there at the foot of old Granite love it and aresatisfied. "

"But don't you feel, sometimes, that if you had greateropportunities--don't you sometimes wish that you could live where--" Shepaused at a loss for words. Phil somehow always made the things shecraved seem so trivial. 

"I know what you mean, " he answered. "You mean, don't the wild horseswish that they could live in a fine stable, and have a lot of men tofeed and take care of them, and rig them out with fancy, gold-mountedharness, and let them prance down the streets for the crowds to see? No;horses have more sense than that. It takes a human to make that kind ofa fool of himself. There's only one thing in the world that would makeme want to try it, and I guess you know what that is. "

His last words robbed his answer of its sting, and she said gently, "Youare bitter to-night, Phil. It is not like you. "

He did not answer. 

"Did something go wrong to-day?" she persisted. 

He turned suddenly to face her, and spoke with a passion unusual to him. "I saw you at the ranch this afternoon--as you were riding away. You didnot even look toward the corral where you knew I was at work; and itseemed like all the heart went clear out of me. Oh, Kitty, girl, can'twe bring back the old days as they were before you went away?"

"Hush, Phil, " she said, almost as she would have spoken to one of herboy brothers. 

But he went on recklessly. "No, I'm going to speak to-night. Ever sinceyou came home you have refused to listen to me--you have put meoff--made me keep still. I want you to tell me, Kitty, if I were likeHonorable Patches, would it make any difference?"

"I do not know Mr. Patches, " she answered. 

"You met him to-day; and you know what I mean. Would it make anydifference if I were like him?"

"Why, Phil, dear, how can I answer such a question? I do not know. "

"Then it's not because I belong here in this country instead of backEast in some city that has made you change?"

"I have changed, I suppose, because I have become a woman, Phil, as youhave become a man. "

"Yes, I have become a man, " he returned, "but I have not changed, exceptthat the boy's love has become a man's love. Would it make anydifference, Kitty, if you cared more for the life here--I mean if youwere contented here--if these things that mean so much to us all, satisfied you?"

Again she answered, "I do not know, Phil. How can I know?"

"Will you try, Kitty--I mean try to like your old home as you used tolike it?"

"Oh, Phil, I have tried. I do try, " she cried. "But I don't think it'sthe life that I like or do not like that makes the difference. I amsure, Phil, that if I could"--she hesitated, then went on bravely--"if Icould give you the love you want, nothing else would matter. You saidyou could like any life that suited me. Don't you think that I could besatisfied with any life that suited the man I loved?"

"Yes, " he said, "you could; and that's the answer. "

"What is the answer?" she asked. 

"Love, just love, Kitty--any place with love is a good place, andwithout love no life can satisfy. I am glad you said that. It was what Iwanted you to say. I know now what I have to do. I am like Patches. Ihave found my job. " There was no bitterness in his voice now. 

The girl was deeply moved, but--"I don't think I quite understand, Phil, " she said. 

"Why, don't you see?" he returned. "My job is to win your love--to makeyou love me--for myself--for just what I am--as a man--and not to try tobe something or to live some way that I think you would like. It's theman that you must love, and not what he does or where he lives. Isn'tthat it?"

"Yes, " she answered slowly. "I am sure that is so. It must be so, Phil. "

He rose to his feet abruptly. "All right, " he said, almost roughly. "I'll go now. But don't make any mistake, Kitty. You're mine, girl, mine, by laws that are higher than the things they taught you at school. And you are going to find it out. I am going to win you--just as thewild things out there win their mates. You are going to come to me, girl, because you are mine--because you are my mate. "

And then, as she, too, arose, and they stood for a silent moment facingeach other, the woman felt his strength, and in her woman heart wasglad--glad and proud, though she could not give all that he asked. 

As she watched him ride away into the night, and the soft mystery of thedarkness out of which he had come seemed to take his shadowy form againto itself, she wondered--wondered with regret in the thought--would he, perhaps, go thus out of her life? Would he?

When Phil turned his horse into the meadow pasture at home the big bay, from somewhere in the darkness, trumpeted his challenge. A low laughcame from near by, and in the light of the stars Phil saw a man standingby the pasture fence. As he went toward the shadowy figure the voice ofPatches followed the laugh. 

"I'll bet that was Stranger. "

"I know it was, " answered Phil. "What's the matter that you're not inbed?"

"Oh, I was just listening to the horses out there, and thinking, "returned Patches. 

"Thinking about your job?" asked Phil quietly. 

"Perhaps, " admitted the other. 

"Well, you have no reason to worry; you'll ride him all right, " said thecowboy. 

"I wish I could be as sure, " the other returned doubt fully. 

And they both knew that they were using the big bay horse as a symbol. 

"And I wish I was as sure of making good at my job, as I am that youwill win out with yours, " returned Phil. 

Patches' voice was very kind as he said reflectively, "So, you have ajob, too. I am glad for that. "

"Glad?"

"Yes, " the tall man placed a hand on the other's shoulder as they turnedto walk toward the house, "because, Phil, I have come to the conclusionthat this old world is a mighty empty place for the man who has nothingto do. "

"But there seems to be a lot of fellows who manage to keep fairly busydoing nothing, just the same, don't you think?" replied Phil with a lowlaugh. 

"I said _man_', " retorted Patches, with emphasis. 

"That's right, " agreed Phil. "A man just naturally requires a man'sjob. "

"And, " mused Patches, "when it's all said and done, I suppose there'sonly one genuine, simon-pure, full-sized man's job in the world. "

"And I reckon that's right, too, " returned the cowboy. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CONCERNING BRANDS. 

A few days after Jim Reid's evening visit to the Dean two cowboys fromthe Diamond-and-a-Half outfit, on their way to Cherry Creek, stopped atthe ranch for dinner. 

The well-known, open-handed Baldwin hospitality led many a passing riderthus aside from the main valley road and through the long meadow lane tothe Cross-Triangle table. Always there was good food for man and horse, with a bed for those who came late in the day; and always there was ahearty welcome and talk under the walnut trees with the Dean. And in allthat broad land there was scarce a cowboy who, when riding the range, would not look out for the Dean's cattle with almost the same interestand care that he gave to the animals bearing the brand of his ownemployer. 

So it was that these riders from the Tonto Flats country told the Deanthat in looking over the Cross-Triangle cattle watering at Toohey theyhad seen several cases of screwworms. 

"We doped a couple of the worst, and branded a calf for you, " said"Shorty" Myers. 

And his companion, Bert Wilson, added, as though apologizing, "Wecouldn't stop any longer because we got to make it over to Wheeler'sbefore mornin'. "

"Much obliged, boys, " returned the Dean. Then, with his ever-ready jest, "Sure you put the right brand on that calf?"

"We-all ain't ridin' for no Tailholt Mountain outfit this season, "retorted Bert dryly, as they all laughed at the Dean's question. 

And at the cowboy's words Patches, wondering, saw the laughing faceschange and looks of grim significance flash from man to man. 

"Anybody seen anything over your way lately?" asked the Dean quietly. 

In the moment of silence that followed the visitors looked questioninglyfrom the face of Patches to the Dean and then to Phil. Phil smiled hisendorsement of the stranger, and "Shorty" said, "We found a couple offresh-branded calves what didn't seem to have no mothers last week, andBud Stillwell says some things look kind o' funny over in the D. 1neighborhood. "

Another significant silence followed. To Patches, it seemed as thebrooding hush that often precedes a storm. He had not missed thosequestioning looks of the visitors, and had seen Phil's smilingendorsement, but he could not, of course, understand. He could onlywonder and wait, for he felt intuitively that he must not speak. It wasas though these strong men who had received him so generously intotheir lives put him, now, outside their circle, while they consideredbusiness of grave moment to themselves. 

"Well, boys, " said the Dean, as if to dismiss the subject, "I've been inthis cow business a good many years, now, an' I've seen all kinds of mencome an' go, but I ain't never seen the man yet that could get aheadvery far without payin' for what he got. Some time, one way or another, whether he's so minded or not, a man's just naturally got to pay. "

"That law is not peculiar to the cattle business, either, is it, Mr. Baldwin?" The words came from Patches, and as they saw his face, it wastheir turn to wonder. 

The Dean looked straight into the dark eyes that were so filled withpainful memories, and wistful desire. "Sir?"

"I mean, " said Patches, embarrassed, as though he had spokeninvoluntarily, "that what you say applies to those who live idly--doingno useful work whatever--as well as to those who are dishonest inbusiness of any kind, or who deliberately steal outright. Don't youthink so?"

The Dean--his eyes still fixed on the face of the new man--answeredslowly, "I reckon that's so, Patches. When you come to think about it, it _must_ be so. One way or another every man that takes what he ain'tearned has to pay for it. "

"Who is he?" asked the visitors of Curly and Bob, as they went for theirhorses, when the meal was over. 

The Cross-Triangle men shook their heads. 

"Just blew in one day, and the Dean hired him, " said Bob. 

"But he's the handiest man with his fists that's ever been in this neckof the woods. If you don't believe it, just you start something, " addedCurly with enthusiasm. 

"Found it out, did you?" laughed Bert. 

"In something less than a minute, " admitted Curly. 

"Funny name!" mused "Shorty. "

Bob grinned. "That's what Curly thought--at first. "

"And then he took another think, huh?"

"Yep, " agreed Curly, "he sure carries the proper credentials to make anyname that he wants to wear good enough for me. "

The visitors mounted their horses, and sat looking appraisingly at thetall figure of Honorable Patches, as that gentleman passed them at alittle distance, on his way to the barn. 

"Mebby you're right, " admitted "Shorty, " "but he sure talks like aschoolmarm, don't he?"

"He sure ain't no puncher, " commented Bert. 

"No, but I'm gamblin' that he's goin' to be, " retorted Curly, ignoringthe reference to Patches' culture. 

"Me, too, " agreed Bob. 

"Well, we'll all try him out this fall rodeo"; and "better not let himdrift far from the home ranch for a while, " laughed the visitors. "Solong!" and they were away. 

Before breakfast the next morning Phil said to Patches, "Catch up Snip, and give him a feed of grain. You'll ride with me to-day. "

At Patches' look of surprise he explained laughingly, "I'm going to givemy school a little vacation, and Uncle Will thinks it's time you wereout of the kindergarten. "

Later, as they were crossing the big pasture toward the country thatlies to the south, the foreman volunteered the further information thatfor the next few weeks they would ride the range. 

"May I ask what for?" said Patches, encouraged by the cowboy's manner. 

It was one of the man's peculiarities that he rarely entered into thetalk of his new friends when their work was the topic of conversation. And he never asked questions except when alone with Phil or the Dean, and then only when led on by them. It was not that he sought to hide hisignorance, for he made no pretenses whatever, but his reticence seemed, rather, the result of a curious feeling of shame that he had so littlein common with these men whose lives were so filled with useful labor. And this, if he had known, was one of the things that made them likehim. Men who live in such close daily touch with the primitive realitiesof life, and who thereby acquire a simple directness, with a certainnative modesty, have no place in their hearts for--to use their ownpicturesque vernacular--a "four-flusher. "

Phil tactfully did not even smile at the question, but answered in amatter-of-fact tone. "To look out for screw-worms, brand a calf hereand there, keep the water holes open, and look out for the stockgenerally. "

"And you mean, " questioned Patches doubtfully, "that _I_ am to ride withyou?"

"Sure. You see, Uncle Will thinks you are too good a man to waste on theodd jobs around the place, and so I'm going to get you in shape for therodeo this fall. "

The effect of his words was peculiar. A deep red colored Patches' face, and his eyes shone with a glad light, as he faced his companion. "Andyou--what do you think about it, Phil?" he demanded. 

The cowboy laughed at the man's eagerness. "Me? Oh, I think just as Ihave thought all the time--ever since you asked for a job that day inthe corral. "

Patches drew a long breath, and, sitting very straight in the saddle, looked away toward Granite Mountain; while Phil, watching him curiously, felt something like kindly pity in his heart for this man who seemed tohunger so for a man's work, and a place among men. 

Just outside the Deep Wash gate of the big pasture, a few cattle weregrazing in the open flat. As the men rode toward them, Phil took downhis riata while Patches watched him questioningly. 

"We may as well begin right here, " said the cowboy. "Do you see anythingpeculiar about anything in that bunch?"

Patches studied the cattle in vain. 

"What about that calf yonder?" suggested Phil, leisurely opening theloop of his rope. "I mean that six-months youngster with the whiteface. "

Still Patches hesitated. 

Phil helped him again. "Look at his ears. "

"They're not marked, " exclaimed Patches. 

"And what should they be marked?" asked the teacher. 

"Under-bit right and a split left, if he belongs to theCross-Triangle, " returned the pupil proudly, and in the same breath heexclaimed, "He is not branded either. "

Phil smiled approval. "That's right, and we'll just fix him now, beforesomebody else beats us to him. " He moved his horse slowly toward thecattle as he spoke. 

"But, " exclaimed Patches, "how do you know that he belongs to theCross-Triangle?"

"He doesn't, " returned Phil, laughing. "He belongs to me. "

"But I don't see how you can tell. "

"I know because I know the stock, " Phil explained, "and because I happento remember that particular calf, in the rodeo last spring. He got awayfrom us, with his mother, in the cedars and brush over near the head ofMint Wash. That's one of the things that you have to learn in thisbusiness, you see. But, to be sure we're right, you watch him a minute, and you'll see him go to a Five-Bar cow. The Five-Bar is my iron, youknow--I have a few head running with Uncle Will's. "

Even as he spoke, the calf, frightened at their closer approach, ran toa cow that was branded as Phil had said, and the cow, with unmistakablematernal interest in her offspring, proved the ownership of the calf. 

"You see?" said Phil. "We'll get that fellow now, because before thenext rodeo he'll be big enough to leave his mother, and then; if heisn't branded, he'll be a maverick, and will belong to anybody that putsan iron on him. "

"But couldn't someone brand him now, with their brand, and drive himaway from his mother?" asked Patches. 

"Such things have been known to happen, and that not a thousand milesfrom here, either, " returned Phil dryly. "But, really, you know, Mr. Patches, it isn't done among the best people. "

Patches laughed aloud at his companion's attempt at a simperingaffectation. Then he watched with admiration while the cowboy sent hishorse after the calf and, too quickly for an inexperienced eye to seejust how it was done, the deft riata stretched the animal by the heels. With a short "hogging" rope, which he carried looped through a hole cutin the edge of his chaps near the belt, Phil tied the feet of hisvictim, before the animal had recovered from the shock of the fall; andthen, with Patches helping, proceeded to build a small fire of dry grassand leaves and sticks from a near-by bush. From his saddle, Phil took asmall iron rod, flattened at one end, and only long enough to permit itsbeing held in the gloved hand when the flattened end was hot--a runningiron, he called it, and explained to his interested pupil, as he thrustit into the fire, how some of the boys used an iron ring for rangebranding. 

"And is there no way to change or erase a brand?" asked Patches, whilethe iron was heating. 

"Sure there is, " replied Phil. And sitting on his heels, cowboy fashion, he marked on the ground with a stick. 

"Look! This is the Cross-Triangle brand: [Illustration]; and this:[Illustration], the Four-Bar-M, happens to be Nick Cambert's iron, overat Tailholt Mountain. Now, can't you see how, supposing I were Nick, andthis calf were branded with the Cross-Triangle, I could work the ironover into my brand?"

Patches nodded. "But is there no way to detect such a fraud?"

"It's a mighty hard thing to prove that an iron has bees worked over, "Phil answered slowly. "About the only sure way is to catch the thief inthe act. "

"But there are the earmarks, " said Patches, a few moments later, whenPhil had released the branded and marked calf--"the earmarks and thebrand wouldn't agree. "

"They would if I were Nick, " said the cowboy. Then he added quickly, asif regretting his remark, "Our earmark is an under-bit right and a splitleft, you said. Well, the Four-Bar-M earmark is a crop and an under-bitright and a swallow-fork left. " With the point of his iron now he againmarked in the dirt. "Here's your Cross-Triangle: [Illustration]; andhere's your Pour-Bar-M: [Illustration]. "

"And if a calf branded with a Tailholt iron were to be found following aCross-Triangle cow, then what?" came Patches' very natural question. 

"Then, " returned the foreman of the Cross-Triangle grimly, "there wouldbe a mighty good chance for trouble. "

"But it seems to me, " said Patches, as they rode on, "that it would beeasily possible for a man to brand another man's calf by mistake. "

"A man always makes a mistake when he puts his iron on another man'sproperty, " returned the cowboy shortly. 

"But might it not be done innocently, just the same!" persisted Patches. 

"Yes, it might, " admitted Phil. 

"Well, then, what would you do if you found a calf, that you knewbelonged to the Dean, branded with some other man's brand? I mean, howwould you proceed?"

"Oh, I see what you are driving at, " said Phil in quite a differenttone. "If you ever run on to a case, the first thing for you to do is tobe dead sure that the misbranded calf belongs to one of our cows. Then, if you are right, and it's not too far, drive the cow and calf into thenearest corral and report it. If you can't get them to a corral withouttoo much trouble, just put the Cross-Triangle on the calf's ribs. Whenhe shows up in the next rodeo, with the right brand on his ribs, andsome other brand where the right brand ought to be--you'll take pains toremember his natural markings, of course--you will explain thecircumstances, and the owner of the iron that was put on him by mistakewill be asked to vent his brand. A brand is vented by putting the samebrand on the animal's shoulder. Look! There's one now. " He pointed to ananimal a short distance away. "See, that steer is brandedDiamond-and-a-Half on hip and shoulder, and Cross-Triangle on his ribs. Well, when he was a yearling he belonged to the Diamond-and-a-Halfoutfit. We picked him up in the rodeo, away over toward Mud Tanks. Hewas running with our stock, and Stillwell didn't want to go to thetrouble of taking him home--about thirty miles it is--so he sold him toUncle Will, and vented his brand, as you see. "

"I see, " said Patches, "but that's different from finding a calfmisbranded. "

"Sure. There was no question of ownership there, " agreed Phil. 

"But in the case of the calf, " the cowboy's pupil persisted, "if it hadleft its mother when the man owning the iron was asked to vent it, therewould be no way of proving the real ownership. "

"Nothing but the word of the man who found the calf with its mother, and, perhaps, the knowledge of the men who knew the stock. "

"What I am getting at, " smiled Patches, "is this: it would come down atlast to a question of men, wouldn't it?"

"That's where most things come to in, the end in this country, Patches. But you're right. With owners like Uncle Will, and Jim Reid, andStillwell, and dozens of others; and with cowboys like Curly and Bob andBert and 'Shorty, ' there would be no trouble at all about the matter. "

"But with others, " suggested Patches. 

"Well, " said Phil slowly, "there are men in this country, who, if theyrefused to vent a brand under such circumstances, would be seeingtrouble, and mighty quick, too. "

"There's another thing that we've got to watch out for, just now, " Philcontinued, a few minutes later, "and that is, 'sleepers'. We'llsuppose, " he explained, "that I want to build up my, bunch of Five-Bars, and that I am not too particular about how I do it. Well, I run on to anunbranded Pot-Hook-S calf that looks good to me, but I don't dare put myiron on him because he's too young to leave his mother. If I let him gountil he is older, some of Jim Reid's riders will brand him, and, yousee, I never could work over the Pot-Hook-S iron into my Five-Bar. So Iearmark the calf with the owner's marks, and don't brand him at all. Then he's a sleeper. If the Pot-Hook-S boys see him, they'll notice thathe's earmarked all right, and very likely they'll take it for grantedthat he's branded, or, perhaps let him go anyway. Before the next rodeoI run on to my sleeper again, and he's big enough now to take away fromthe cow, so all I have to do is to change the earmarks and brand himwith my iron. Of course, I wouldn't get all my sleepers, but--thepercentage would be in my favor. If too many sleepers show up in therodeo, though, folks would get mighty suspicious that someone was toohandy with his knife. We got a lot of sleepers in the last rodeo, " heconcluded quietly. 

And Patches, remembering what Little Billy had said about Nick Cambertand Yavapai Joe, and with the talk of the visiting cowboys still freshin his mind, realized that he was making progress in his education. 

Riding leisurely, and turning frequently aside for a nearer view of thecattle they sighted here and there, they reached Toohey a little beforenoon. Here, in a rocky hollow of the hills, a small stream wells fromunder the granite walls, only to lose itself a few hundred yards away inthe sands and gravel of the wash. But, short as its run in the daylightis, the water never fails. And many cattle come from the open range thatlies on every side, to drink, and, in summer time, to spend the heat ofthe day, standing in the cool, wet sands or lying in the shade of thegiant sycamores that line the bank opposite the bluff. There are corralsnear-by and a rude cook-shack under the wide-spreading branches of anold walnut tree; and the ground of the flat open space, a little backfrom the water, is beaten bare and hard by the thousands upon thousandsof cattle that have at many a past rodeo-time been gathered there. 

The two men found, as the Diamond-and-a-Half riders had said, severalanimals suffering from those pests of the Arizona ranges, thescrewworms. As Phil explained to Patches while they watered theirhorses, the screwworm is the larva of a blowfly bred in sores on livinganimals. The unhealed wounds of the branding iron made the calves by farthe most numerous among the sufferers, and were the afflicted animalsnot treated the loss during the season would amount to considerable. 

"Look here, Patches, " said the cowboy, as his practiced eyes noted thenumber needing attention. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll just runthis hospital bunch into the corral, and you can limber up that riata ofyours. "

And so Patches learned not only the unpleasant work of cleaning theworm-infested sores with chloroform, but received his first lesson inthe use of the cowboy's indispensable tool, the riata. 

"What next?" asked Patches, as the last calf escaped through the gatewhich he had just opened, and ran to find the waiting and anxiousmother. 

Phil looked at his companion, and laughed. Honorable Patches showed theeffect of his strenuous and bungling efforts to learn the rudiments ofthe apparently simple trick of roping a calf. His face was streaked withsweat and dust, his hair disheveled, and his clothing soiled andstained. But his eyes were bright, and his bearing eager and ready. 

"What's the matter?" he demanded, grinning happily at his teacher. "Whatfool thing have I done now?"

"You're doing fine, " Phil returned. "I was only thinking that you don'tlook much like the man I met up on the Divide that evening. "

"I don't feel much like him, either, as far as that goes, " returnedPatches. 

Phil glanced up at the sun. "What do you say to dinner? It must be aboutthat time. "

"Dinner?"

"Sure. I brought some jerky--there on my saddle--and some coffee. Thereought to be an old pot in the shack yonder. Some of the boys don'tbother, but I never like to miss a feed unless it's necessary. " He didnot explain that the dinner was really a thoughtful concession to hiscompanion. 

"Ugh!" ejaculated Patches, with a shrug of disgust, the work they hadbeen doing still fresh in his mind. "I couldn't eat a bite. "

"You think that now, " retorted Phil, "but you just go down to the creek, drink all you can hold, wash up, and see how quick you'll change yourmind when you smell the coffee. "

And thus Patches received yet another lesson--a lesson in the art offorgetting promptly the most disagreeable features of his work--an artvery necessary to those who aspire to master real work of any sortwhatever. 

When they had finished their simple meal, and lay stretched full lengthbeneath the overhanging limbs of the age-old tree that had witnessed somany stirring scenes, and listened to so many camp-fire tales of ranchand range, they talked of things other than their work. In low tones, asmen who feel a mystic and not-to-be-explained bond of fellowship--withhalf-closed eyes looking out into the untamed world that lay beforethem--they spoke of life, of its mystery and meaning. And Phil, usuallyso silent when any conversation touched himself, and so timid always inexpressing his own self thoughts, was strangely moved to permit this manto look upon the carefully hidden and deeper things of his life. Butupon his cherished dream--upon his great ambition--he kept the door fastclosed. The time for that revelation of himself was not yet. 

"By the way, Phil, " said Patches, when at last his companion signifiedthat it was time for them to go. "Where were you educated? I don't thinkthat I have heard you say. "

"I have no education, " returned the young man, with a laugh that, toPatches, sounded a bitter note. "I'm just a common cow-puncher, that'sall. "

"I beg your pardon, " returned the other, "but I thought from the booksyou mentioned--"

"Oh, the books! Why, you see, some four years ago a real, honest-to-goodness book man came out to this country for his health, andbrought his disease along with him. "

"His disease?" questioned Patches. 

Phil smiled. "His books, I mean. They killed him, and I fell heir tohis trouble. He was a good fellow, all right--we all liked him--mighthave been a man if he hadn't been so much of a scholar. I was curious, at first, just to see what it was that had got such a grip on him; andthen I got interested myself. About that time, too, there was a reasonwhy I thought it might be a good thing for me; so I sent for more, andhave made a fairly good job of it in the past three years. I don't thinkthat there's any danger, though, of the habit getting the grip on methat it had on him, " he reflected with a whimsical grin. "It was ourbook friend who first called Uncle Will the Dean. "

"The title certainly fits him well, " remarked Patches. "I don't wonderthat it stuck. I suppose you received yours for your riding?"

"Mine?"

"'Wild Horse Phil, ' I mean, " smiled the other. 

Phil laughed. "Haven't you heard that yarn yet? I reckon I may as welltell you. No, wait!" he exclaimed eagerly. "We have lots of time. We'llride south a little way and perhaps I can show you. "

As they rode away up the creek, Patches wondered much at his companion'swords and at his manner, but the cowboy shook his head at everyquestion, answering, simply, "Wait. "

Soon they had left the creek bed--passing through a rock gateway at thebeginning of the little stream--and were riding up a long, gentlysloping hollow between two low but rugged ridges. The crest of the rockywall on their left was somewhat higher than the ridge on their right, but, as the floor of the long, narrow hollow ascended, the sides of thelittle valley became correspondingly lower. Patches noticed that hiscompanion was now keenly alert and watchful. He sat his horse easily, but there was a certain air of readiness in his poise, as though heanticipated sudden action, while his eyes searched the mountain sideswith eager expectancy. 

They had nearly reached the upper end of the long slope when Philabruptly reined his horse to the left and rode straight up that rugged, rock-strewn mountain wall. To Patches it seemed impossible that a horsecould climb such a place; but he said nothing, and wisely gave Snip hishead. They were nearly at the top--so near, in fact, that Phil could seeover the narrow crest--when the cowboy suddenly checked his horse andslipped from the saddle. With a gesture he bade his companion follow hisexample, and in a moment Patches stood beside him. Leaving their horses, they crept the few remaining feet to the summit. Crouching low, thenlying prone, they worked their way to the top of a huge rounded rock, from which they could look over and down upon the country that liesbeyond. 

Patches uttered a low exclamation, but Phil's instant grip on his armchecked further speech. 

From where they lay, they looked down upon a great mountain basin ofgently rolling, native grass land. From the foot of that rocky ridge, the beautiful pasture stretches away, several miles, to the bold, graycliffs and mighty, towering battlements of Granite Mountain. On thesouth, a range of dark hills, and to the north, a series of sharppeaks, form the natural boundaries. 

"Do you see them?" whispered Phil. 

Patches looked at him inquiringly. The stranger's interest in thatwonderful scene had led him to overlook that which held his companion'sattention. 

"There, " whispered Phil impatiently, "on the side of that hillthere--they're not more than four hundred yards away, and they'reworking toward us. "

"Do you mean those horses?" whispered Patches, amazed at his companion'smanner. 

Phil nodded. 

"Do they belong to the Cross-Triangle?" asked Patches, still mystified. 

"The Cross-Triangle!" Phil chuckled. Then, with a note of genuinereverence in his voice, he added softly, "They belong to God, Mr. Honorable Patches. "

Then Patches understood. "Wild horses!" he ejaculated softly. 

There are few men, I think, who can look without admiration upon abeautifully formed, noble spirited horse. The glorious pride andstrength and courage of these most kingly of God's creatures--even whenthey are in harness and subject to their often inferior masters--compelrespect and a degree of appreciation. But seen as they roam free inthose pastures that, since the creation, have never been marred by plowor fence--pastures that are theirs by divine right, and the sunny slopesand shady groves and rocky nooks of which constitute theirkingdom--where, in their lordly strength, they are subject only to thedictates of their own being, and, unmutilated by human cruelty, rule bythe power and authority of Nature's laws--they stir the blood of thecoldest heart to a quicker flow, and thrill the mind of the dullest withadmiring awe. 

"There's twenty-eight in that bunch, " whispered Phil. "Do you see thatbig black stallion on guard--the one that throws up his head everyminute or two for a look around?"

Patches nodded. There was no mistaking the watchful leader of the band. 

"He's the chap that gave me my title, as you call it, " chuckled Phil. "Come on, now, and we'll see them in action; then I'll tell you aboutit. "

He slipped from the rock and led the way back to the saddle horses. 

Riding along the ridge, just under the crest, they soon reached thepoint where the chain of low peaks merges into the hills that form thesouthern boundary of the basin, and so came suddenly into full view ofthe wild horses that were feeding on the slopes a little below. 

As the two horsemen appeared, the leader of the band threw up his headwith a warning call to his fellows. 

Phil reined in his horse and motioned for Patches to do the same. 

For several minutes, the black stallion held his place, as motionless asthe very rocks of the mountain side, gazing straight at the mounted menas though challenging their right to cross the boundary of his kingdom, while his retainers stood as still, waiting his leadership. With hislong, black mane and tail rippling and waving in the breeze that sweptdown from Blair Pass and across the Basin, with his raven-black coatglistening in the sunlight with the sheen of richest satin where theswelling muscles curved and rounded from shadow to high light, and withhis poise of perfect strength and freedom, he looked, as indeed he was, a prince of his kind--a lord of the untamed life that homes in thoseGod-cultivated fields. 

Patches glanced at his companion, as if to speak, but struck by theexpression on the cowboy's face, remained silent. Phil was leaning alittle forward in his saddle, his body as perfect in its poise of alertand graceful strength as the body of the wild horse at which he wasgazing with such fixed interest. The clear, deeply tanned skin of hischeeks glowed warmly with the red of his clean, rich blood, his eyesshone with suppressed excitement, his lips, slightly parted, curved in asmile of appreciation, love and reverence for the unspoiled beauty ofthe wild creature that he himself, in so many ways, unconsciouslyresembled. 

And Patches--bred and schooled in a world so far from this world ofprimitive things--looking from Phil to the wild horse, and back againfrom the stallion to the man, felt the spirit and the power that madethem kin--felt it with a, to him, strange new feeling of reverence, asthough in the perfect, unspoiled life-strength of man and horse he camein closer touch with the divine than he had ever known before. 

Then, without taking his eyes from the object of his almost worship, Phil said, "Now, watch him, Patches, watch him!"

As he spoke, he moved slowly toward the band, while Patches rode closeby his side. 

At their movement, the wild stallion called another warning to hisfollowers, and went a few graceful paces toward the slowly approachingmen. And then, as they continued their slow advance, he wheeled with thesmooth grace of a swallow, and, with a movement so light and free thathe seemed rather to skim over the surface of the ground than to treadupon it, circled here and there about his band, assembling them incloser order, flying, with ears flat and teeth bared and mane and tailtossing, in lordly fury at the laggards, driving them before him, butkeeping always between his charges and the danger until they were atwhat he evidently judged to be, for their inferior strength, a distanceof safety. Then again he halted his company and, moving alone a shortway toward the horsemen, stood motionless, watching their slow approach. 

Again Phil checked his horse. "God!" he exclaimed under his breath. "What a sight! Oh, you beauty! You beauty!"

But Patches was moved less by the royal beauty of the wild stallion thanby the passionate reverence that vibrated in his companion's voice. 

Again the two horsemen moved forward; and again the stallion drove hisband to a safe distance, and stood waiting between them and theirenemies. 

Then the cowboy laughed aloud--a hearty laugh of clean enjoyment. "Allright, old fellow, I'll just give you a whirl for luck, " he said aloudto the wild horse, apparently forgetting his human companion. 

And Patches saw him shorten his reins, and rise a little in hisstirrups, while his horse, as though understanding, gathered himself fora spring. In a flash Patches was alone, watching as Phil, riding withevery ounce of strength that his mount could command, dashed straighttoward the band. 

For a moment, the black stallion stood watching the now rapidlyapproaching rider. Then, wheeling, he started his band, driving themimperiously, now, to their utmost speed, and then, as though heunderstood this new maneuver of the cowboy, he swept past his runningcompanions, with the clean, easy flight of an arrow, and taking hisplace at the head of his charges led them away toward Granite Mountain. 

Phil stopped, and Patches could see him watching, as the wild horses, with streaming manes and tails, following their leader, who seemed torun with less than half his strength, swept away across the rollinghillsides, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, until, as dark, swiftly moving dots, they vanished over the sky line. 

"Wasn't that great?" cried Phil, when he had loped back to hiscompanion. "Did you see him go by the bunch like they were standingstill?"

"There didn't seem to be much show for you to catch him, " said Patches. 

"Catch him!" exclaimed Phil. "Did you think I was trying to catch him? Ijust wanted to see him go. The horse doesn't live that could put a manwithin roping distance of any one in that bunch on a straightaway run, and the black can run circles around the whole outfit. I had him once, though. "

"You caught that black!" exclaimed Patches--incredulously. 

Phil grinned. "I sure had him for a little while. "

"But what is he doing out here running loose, then?" demanded the other. "Got away, did he?"

"Got away, nothing. Fact is, he belongs to me right now, in a way, and Iwouldn't swap him for any string of cow-horses that I ever saw. "

Then, as they rode toward the home ranch, Phil told the story that isknown throughout all that country. 

"It was when the black was a yearling, " he said. "I'd had my eye on himall the year, and so had some of the other boys who had sighted theband, for you could see, even when he was a colt, what he was going tobe. The wild horses were getting rather too numerous that season, and weplanned a chase to thin them out a little, as we do every two or threeyears. Of course, everybody was after the black; and one day, alongtoward the end of the chase, when the different bands had been broken upand scattered pretty much, I ran onto him. I was trailing an old gray upthat draw--the way we went to-day, you know, and all at once I met himas he was coming over the top of the hill, right where you and I rodeonto him. It was all so sudden that for a minute he was rattled as badas I was; and, believe me, I was shaking like a leaf. I managed to cometo, first, though, and hung my rope on him before he could get started. I don't know to this day where the old gray that I was after went. Well, sir; he fought like a devil, and for a spell we had it around and arounduntil I wasn't dead sure whether I had him or he had me. But he was onlya yearling then, you see, and I finally got him down. "

Phil paused, a peculiar expression on his face. Patches waited silently. 

"Do you know, " said the cowboy, at last, hesitatingly, "I can't explainit--and I don't talk about it much, for it was the strangest thing thatever happened to me--but when I looked into that black stallion's eyes, and he looked me straight in the face, I never felt so sorry foranything in my life. I was sort of ashamed like--like--well, like I'dbeen caught holding up a church, you know, or something like that. Wewere all alone up there, just him and me, and while I was getting mywind, and we were sizing each other up, and I was feeling that way, Igot to thinking what it all meant to him--to be broken andeducated--and--well--civilized, you know; and I thought what a horse hewould be if he was left alone to live as God made him, and so--well--"He paused again with an embarrassed laugh. 

"You let him go?" cried Patches. 

"It's God's truth, Patches. I couldn't do anything else--I justcouldn't. One of the boys came up just in time to catch me turning himloose, and, of course, the whole outfit just naturally raised hell aboutit. You see, in a chase like that, we always bunch all we get and sellthem off to the highest bidder, and every man in the outfit sharesalike. The boys figured that the black was worth more than any fiveothers that were caught, and so you couldn't blame them for feelingsore. But I fixed it with them by turning all my share into the pot, sothey couldn't kick. That, you see, makes the black belong to me, in away, and it's pretty generally understood that I propose to take care ofhim. There was a fellow, riding in the rodeo last fall, that took a shotat him one day, and--well--he left the country right after it happenedand hasn't been seen around here since. "

The cowboy grinned as his companion's laugh rang out. 

"Do you know, " Phil continued in a low tone, a few minutes later, "Ibelieve that horse knows me yet. Whenever I am over in this part of thecountry I always have a look at him, if he happens to be around, and wevisit a little, as we did to-day. I've got a funny notion that he likesit as much as I do, and, I can't tell how it is, but it sort of makes mefeel good all over just to see him. I reckon you think I'm some fool, "he finished with another short laugh of embarrassment, "but that's theway I feel--and that's why they call me 'Wild Horse Phil'. "

For a little they rode in silence; then Patches spoke, gravely, "I don'tknow how to tell you what I think, Phil, but I understand, and from thebottom of my heart I envy you. "

And the cowboy, looking at his companion, saw in the man's eyessomething that reminded him of that which he had seen in the wildhorse's eyes, that day when he had set him free. Had Patches, too, atsome time in those days that were gone, been caught by the riata ofcircumstance or environment, and in some degree robbed of hisGod-inheritance? Phil smiled at the fancy, but, smiling, felt its truth;and with genuine sympathy felt this also to be true, that the man mightyet, by the strength that was deepest within him, regain that which hehad lost. 

And so that day, as the man from the ranges and the man from the citiesrode together, the feeling of kinship that each had instinctivelyrecognized at their first meeting on the Divide was strengthened. Theyknew that a mutual understanding which could not have been put intowords of any tongue or land was drawing them closer together. 

A few days later the incident occurred that fixed their friendship--asthey thought--for all time to come. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE TAILHOLT MOUNTAIN OUTFIT. 

Phil and Patches were riding that day in the country about Old Camp. Early in the afternoon, they heard the persistent bawling of a calf, andupon riding toward the sound, found the animal deep in the cedar timber, which in that section thickly covers the ridges. The calf was freshlybranded with the Tailholt iron. It was done, Phil said, the day before, probably in the late afternoon. The youngster was calling for hismother. 

"It's strange, she is not around somewhere, " said Patches. 

"It would be more strange if she was, " retorted the cowboy shortly, andhe looked from the calf to the distant Tailholt Mountain, as though hewere considering some problem which he did not, for some reason, care toshare with his companion. 

"There's not much use to look for her, " he added, with grimdisappointment. "That's always the way. If we had ridden this rangeyesterday, instead of away over there in the Mint Wash country--I amalways about a day behind. "

There was something in the manner and in the quiet speech of the usuallysunny-tempered foreman that made his companion hesitate to askquestions, or to offer comment with the freedom that he had learned tofeel that first day of their riding together. During the hours thatfollowed Phil said very little, and when he did speak his words werebrief and often curt, while, to Patches, he seemed to study the countryover which they rode with unusual care. When they had eaten their rathergloomy lunch, he was in the saddle again almost before Patches hadfinished, with seemingly no inclination for their usual talk. 

The afternoon, was nearly gone, and they were making their way homewardwhen they saw a Cross-Triangle bull that had evidently been hurt in afight. The animal was one of the Dean's much-prized Herefords, and thewound needed attention. 

"We've got to dope that, " said Phil, "or the screwworms will be workingin it sure. " He was taking down his riata and watching the bull, who wasrumbling a sullen, deep-voiced challenge, as he spoke. 

"Can I help?" asked Patches anxiously, as he viewed the powerful beast, for this was the first full-grown animal needing attention that he hadseen in his few days' experience. 

"No, " returned Phil. "Just keep in the clear, that's all. This chap isno calf, and he's sore over his scrap. He's on the prod right now. "

It all happened in a few seconds. 

The cowboy's horse, understanding from long experience that thisthreatening mark for his master's riata was in no gentle frame of mind, fretted uneasily as though dreading his part in the task before them. Patches saw the whirling rope leave Phil's hand, and saw it tighten, asthe cowboy threw the weight of his horse against it; and then he caughta confused vision--a fallen, struggling horse with a man pinned to theground beneath him, and a wickedly lowered head, with sharp horns andangry eyes, charging straight at them. 

Patches did not think--there was no time to think. With a yell ofhorror, he struck deep with both spurs, and his startled, pain-maddenedhorse leaped forward. Again he spurred cruelly with all his strength, and the next bound of his frenzied mount carried him upon those deadlyhorns. Patches remembered hearing a sickening rip, and a scream of fearand pain, as he felt the horse under him rise in the air. He never knewhow he managed to free himself, as he fell backward with his strugglingmount, but he distinctly saw Phil regain his saddle while his horse wasin the very act of struggling to its feet, and he watched with anxiousinterest as the cowboy forced his excited mount in front of the bull toattract the beast's wicked attention. The bull, accepting thetantalizing challenge, charged again, and Patches, with a thrill ofadmiration for the man's coolness and skill, saw that Phil was coilinghis riata, even while his frightened horse, with terrific leaps, avoidedthose menacing horns. The bull stopped, shook his head in anger over hisfailure, and looked back toward the man on foot. But again that horseand rider danced temptingly before him, so close that it seemed hecould not fail, and again he charged, only to find that his mad rushcarried him still further from the helpless Patches. And by now, Philhad recovered his riata, and the loop was whirling in easy circles abouthis head. The cow-horse, as though feeling the security that was in thatfamiliar motion of his master's arm, steadied himself, and, in the fewactive moments that followed, obedient to every signal of his rider, didhis part with almost human intelligence. 

When the bull was safely tied, Phil went to the frightfully injuredhorse, and with a merciful bullet ended the animal's suffering. Then helooked thoughtfully at Patches, who stood gazing ruefully at the deadanimal, as though he felt himself to blame for the loss of hisemployer's property. A slight smile lightened the cowboy's face, as henoticed his companion's troubled thought. 

"I suppose I've done it now, " said Patches, as though expectingwell-merited censure. 

Phil's smile broadened. "You sure have, " he returned, as he wiped thesweat from his face. "I'm much obliged to you. "

Patches looked at him in confused embarrassment. 

"Don't you know that you saved my life?" asked Phil dryly. 

"But--but, I killed a good horse for the Dean, " stammered Patches. 

To which the Dean's foreman returned with a grin, "I reckon Uncle Willcan stand the loss--considering. "

This relieved the tension, and they laughed together. 

"But tell me something, Patches, " said Phil, curiously. "Why didn't youshoot the bull when he charged me?"

"I didn't think of it, " admitted Patches. "I didn't really think ofanything. "

The cowboy nodded with understanding approval. "I've noticed that theman to tie to, in sudden trouble, is the man who doesn't have to think;the man, I mean, who just does the right thing instinctively, and waitsto think about it afterwards when there's time. "

Patches was pleased. "I did the right thing, then?"

"It was the only thing you _could_ do to save my life, " returned Philseriously. "If you had tried to use your gun--even if you could havemanaged to hit him--you wouldn't have stopped him in time. If you hadbeen where you could have put a bullet between his eyes, it might haveworked, but"--he smiled again--"I'm mighty glad you didn't think to tryany experiments. Tell me something else, " he added. "Did you realize thechance you were taking for yourself?"

Patches shook his head. "I can't say that I realized anything exceptthat you were in a bad fix, and that it was up to me to do somethingquick. How did it happen, anyway?" He seemed anxious to turn theconversation. 

"Diamond stepped in that hole there, " explained Phil. "When he turnedover I sure thought it was all day for me. Believe me, I won't forgetthis, Patches. "

For another moment there was an embarrassed silence; then Patches said, "What puzzles me is, why you didn't take a shot at him, after you wereup, instead of risking your neck again trying to rope him. "

"Why, there was no use killing a good bull, as long as there was anyother way. It's my business to keep him alive; that's what I started into do, wasn't it?" And thus the cowboy, in a simple word or two, statedthe creed of his profession, a creed that permits no consideration ofpersonal danger or discomfort when the welfare of the employer'sproperty is at stake. 

When they had removed saddle and bridle from the dead horse and hadcleaned the ugly wound in the bull's side, Phil said, "Now, Mr. Honorable Patches, you'd better move on down the wash a piece, and getout of sight behind one of those cedars. This fellow is going to getbusy again when I let him up. I'll come along when I've got rid of him. "

A little later, as Phil rode out of the cedars toward Patches, a deep, bellowing challenge came from up the wash. 

"He's just telling us what he'll do to us the next chance he gets, "chuckled Phil. "Hop up behind me now and we'll go home. "

The gloom, that all day had seemed to overshadow Phil, was effectuallybanished by the excitement of the incident, and he was again his sunny, cheerful self. As they rode, they chatted and laughed merrily. Then, suddenly, as it had happened that morning, the cowboy was again grim andsilent. 

Patches was wondering what had so quickly changed his companion's mood, when he caught sight of two horsemen, riding along the top of the ridgethat forms the western side of the wash, their course paralleling thatof the Cross-Triangle men, who were following the bed of the wash. 

When Patches directed Phil's attention to the riders, the cowboy saidshortly, "I've been watching them for the last ten minutes. " Then, as ifregretting the manner of his reply, he added more kindly, "If they keepon the way they're going, we'll likely meet them about a mile down thewash where the ridge breaks. "

"Do you know them?" asked Patches curiously. 

"It's Nick Cambert and that poor, lost dog of a Yavapai Joe, " Philanswered. 

"The Tailholt Mountain outfit, " murmured Patches, watching the riders onthe ridge with quickened interest. "Do you know, Phil, I believe I haveseen those fellows before. "

"You have!" exclaimed Phil. "Where? When?"

"I don't know how to tell you where, " Patches replied, "but it was theday I rode the drift fence. They were on a ridge, across a little valleyfrom me. "

"That must have been this same Horse Wash that we're following now, "replied Phil; "it widens out a bit below here. What makes you think itwas Nick and Joe?"

"Why, those fellows up there look like the two that I saw, one big oneand one rather lightweight. They were the same distance from me, youknow, and--yes--I am sure those are the same horses. "

"Pretty good, Patches, but you ought to have reported it when you gothome. "

"Why, I didn't think it of any importance. "

"There are two rules that you must follow, always, " said the cowboy, "ifyou are going to learn to be a top hand in this business. The first is:to see everything that there is to see, and to see everything abouteverything that you see. And the second is: to remember it all. I don'tmind telling you, now, that Jim Reid found a calf, fresh-branded withthe Tailholt iron, that same afternoon, in that same neighborhood; andthat, on our side of the drift fence, he ran onto a Cross-Triangle cowthat had lost her calf. There come our friends now. "

The two horsemen were riding down the side of the hill at an angle thatwould bring about the meeting which Phil had foreseen. And Patchesimmediately broke the first of the two rules, for, while watching theriders, he did not notice that his companion loosened his gun in itsholster. 

Nick Cambert was a large man, big-bodied and heavy, with sandy hair, andthose peculiar light blue eyes which do not beget confidence. But, asthe Tailholt Mountain men halted to greet Phil, Patches gave to Nicklittle more than a passing glance, so interested was he in the big man'scompanion. 

It is doubtful if blood, training, environment, circumstances, thefates, or whatever it is that gives to men individuality, ever marked aman with less manhood than was given to poor Yavapai Joe. Standingerect, he would have been, perhaps, a little above medium height, butthin and stooped, with a half-starved look, as he slouched listlessly inthe saddle, it was almost impossible to think of him as a matured man. The receding chin, and coarse, loosely opened mouth, the pale, lifelesseyes set too closely together under a low forehead, with a ragged thatchof dead, mouse-colored hair, and a furtive, sneaking, lost-dogexpression, proclaimed him the outcast that he was. 

The big man eyed Patches as he greeted the Cross-Triangle's foreman. "Howdy, Phil!"

"Hello, Nick!" returned Phil coldly. "Howdy, Joe!"

The younger man, who was gazing stupidly at Patches, returned thesalutation with an unintelligible mumble, and proceeded to roll acigarette. 

"You folks at the Cross-Triangle short of horses?" asked Nick, with anevident attempt at jocularity, alluding to the situation of the two men, who were riding one horse. 

"We got mixed up with a bull back yonder, " Phil explained briefly. 

"They can sure put a horse out o' the game mighty quick sometimes, "commented the other. "I've lost a few that way myself. It's about as farfrom here to my place as it is to Baldwin's, or I'd help you out. You'rewelcome, you know. "

"Much obliged, " returned Phil, "but we'll make it home all right. Ireckon we'd better be moving, though. So long!"

"Adios!"

Throughout this brief exchange of courtesies, Yavapai Joe had not moved, except to puff at his cigarette; nor had he ceased to regard Patcheswith a stupid curiosity. As Phil and Patches moved away, he still satgazing after the stranger, until he was aroused by a sharp word fromNick, as the latter turned his horse toward Tailholt Mountain. Withoutchanging his slouching position in the saddle, and with a finalslinking, sidewise look toward Patches, the poor fellow obedientlytrailed after his master. 

Patches could not resist the impulse to turn for another look at thewretched shadow of manhood that so interested him. 

"Well, what do you think of that pair?" asked Phil, breaking in upon hiscompanion's preoccupation. 

Patches shrugged his shoulders much as he had done that day of his firstexperience with the screwworms; then he said quietly, "Do you mindtelling me about them, Phil?"

"Why, there's not much to tell, " returned the cowboy. "That is, there'snot much that anybody knows for certain. Nick was born in YavapaiCounty. His father, old George Cambert, was one of the kind that seemshonest enough, and industrious, too, but somehow always just misses it. They moved away to some place in Southern California when Nick was aboutgrown. He came back six years ago, and located over there at the foot ofTailholt Mountain, and started his Four-Bar-M iron; and, one way oranother, he's managed to get together quite a bunch of stock. You see, his expenses don't amount to anything, scarcely. He and Joe bach in anold shack that somebody built years ago, and they do all the ridingthemselves. Joe's not much force, but he's handier than you'd think, aslong as there's somebody around to tell him what to do, and sort of backhim up. Nick, though, can do two men's work any day in the year. "

"But it's strange that a man like Nick would have anything to do withsuch a creature as that poor specimen, " mused Patches. "Are they relatedin any way?"

"Nobody knows, " answered Phil. "Joe first showed up at Prescott aboutfour years ago with a man by the name of Dryden, who claimed that Joewas his son. They camped just outside of town, in some dirty old tents, and lived by picking up whatever was lying around loose. Dryden wouldn'twork, and, naturally, no one would have Joe. Finally Dryden was sent upfor robbing a store, and Joe nearly went with him. They let him off, Ibelieve, because it was proved pretty well that he was only Dryden'stool, and didn't have nerve enough to do any real harm by himself. Hedrifted around for several months, living like a stray cur, until Nicktook him in tow. Nick treats him shamefully, abuses him like a beast, and works him like a slave. The poor devil stays on with him because hedoesn't know what else to do, I suppose. "

"Is he always like we saw him to-day?" asked Patches, who seemedstrangely interested in this bit of human drift. "Doesn't he ever talk?"

"Oh, yes, he'll talk all right, when Nick isn't around, or when thereare not too many present. Get off somewhere alone with him, after hegets acquainted a little, and he's not half such bad company as helooks. I reckon that's the main reason why Nick keeps him. You see, nodecent cow-puncher would dare work at Tailholt Mountain, and a man getsmighty lonesome living so much alone. But Joe never talks about where hecame from, or who he is; shuts up like a clam if you so much as mentionanything that looks like you were trying to find out about him. He's notsuch a fool as he looks, either, so far as that goes, but he's alwaysgot that sneaking, coyote sort of look, and whatever he does he does inthat same way. "

"In other words, " commented Patches thoughtfully, "poor Joe must havesomeone to depend on; taken alone he counts no more than a cipher. "

"That's it, " said Phil. "With somebody to feed him, and think for him, and take care of him, and be responsible for him, in some sort of a way, he makes almost one. "

"After all, Phil, " said Patches, with bitter sarcasm, "poor Yavapai Joeis not so much different from hundreds of men that I know. By theirstandards he should be envied. "

Phil was amazed at his companion's words, for they seemed to hint atsomething in the man's past, and Patches, so far as his reticence uponany subject that approached his own history, was always as silent asYavapai Joe himself. 

"What do you mean by that?" Phil demanded. "What sort of men do youmean?"

"I mean the sort that never do anything of their own free wills; thesort that have someone else to think for them, and feed them, and takecare of them and take all the responsibility for what they do or do notdo. I mean those who are dependents, and those who aspire to bedependent. I can't see that it makes any essential difference whetherthey have inherited wealth and what we call culture, or whether they arepoverty-stricken semi-imbeciles like Joe; the principle is the same. "

As they dismounted at the home corral gate, Phil looked at his companioncuriously. "You seem mighty interested in Joe, " he said, with a smile. 

"I am, " retorted Patches. "He reminds me of--of some one I know, " hefinished, with his old, self-mocking smile. "I have a fellow feelingfor him, the same as you have for that wild horse, you know. I'd like totake him away from Nick, and see if it would be possible to make a realman of him, " he mused, more to himself than to his companion. 

"I don't believe I'd try any experiments along that line, Patches, "cautioned Phil. "You've got to have something to build on when you startto make a man. The raw material is not in Joe, and, besides, " he addedsignificantly, "folks might not understand. "

Patches laughed bitterly. "I have my hands full now. "

The next morning the foreman said that he would give that day to thehorses he was training, and sent Patches, alone, after the saddle andbridle which they had left near the scene of the accident. 

"You can't miss finding the place again, " he said to Patches; "justfollow up the wash. You'll be back by noon--if you don't try anyexperiments, " he added laughing. 

Patches had ridden as far as the spot where he and Phil had met theTailholt Mountain men, and was thirsty. He thought of the distance hehad yet to go, and then of the return back to the ranch, in the heat ofthe day. He remembered that Phil had told him, as they were riding outthe morning before, of a spring a little way up the small side canyonthat opens into the main wash through that break in the ridge. For amoment he hesitated; then he turned aside, determined to find thewater. 

Riding perhaps two hundred yards into that narrow gap In the ridge, hefound the way suddenly becoming steep and roughly strewn with boulders, and, thinking to make better time, left his horse tied to a bush in theshadow of the rocky wall, while he climbed up the dry watercourse onfoot. He found, as Phil had said, that it was not far. Another hundredyards up the boulder-strewn break in the ridge, and he came out into abeautiful glade, where he found the spring, clear and cold, under amoss-grown rock, in the deep shade of an old gnarled and twisted cedar. Gratefully he threw himself down and drank long and deep; then sat for afew moments' rest, before making his way back to his horse. The moist, black earth of the cuplike hollow was roughly trampled by the cattlethat knew the spot, and there were well-marked trails leading downthrough the heavy growth of brush and trees that clothed the hillsides. So dense was this forest growth, and so narrow the glade, that thesunlight only reached the cool retreat through a network of leaves andbranches, in ever-shifting spots and bars of brightness. Nor could onesee very far through the living screens. 

Patches was on the point of going, when he heard voices and the sound ofhorses' feet somewhere above. For a moment he sat silently listening. Then he realized that the riders were approaching, down one of thecattle trails. A moment more, and he thought he recognized one of thevoices. There was a low, murmuring, whining tone, and then a rough, heavy voice, raised seemingly in anger. Patches felt sure, now, that heknew the speakers; and, obeying one of those impulses that so oftenprompted his actions, he slipped quietly into the dense growth on theside of the glade opposite the approaching riders. He was scarcelyhidden--a hundred feet or so from the spring--when Nick Cambert andYavapai Joe rode into the glade. 

If Patches had paused to think, he likely would have disdained to playthe part of a hidden spy; but he had acted without thinking, and nosooner was he concealed than he realized that it was too late. So hesmiled mockingly at himself, and awaited developments. He had heard andseen enough, since he had been in the Dean's employ, to understand thesuspicion in which the owner of the Four-Bar-M iron was held; and fromeven his few days' work on the range in company with Phil, he had cometo understand how difficult it was for the cattlemen to prove anythingagainst the man who they had every reason to believe was stealing theirstock. It was the possibility of getting some positive evidence, and ofthus protecting his employer's property, that had really prompted him totake advantage of the chance situation. 

As the two men appeared, it was clear to the hidden observer that theweakling had in some way incurred his master's displeasure. The bigman's face was red with anger, and his eyes were hard and cruel, whileJoe had more than aver the look of a lost dog that expects nothing lessthan a curse and a kick. 

Nick drank at the spring, then turned back to his companion, who had notdismounted, but sat on his horse cringing and frightened, trying, withfluttering fingers, to roll a cigarette. A moment the big man surveyedhis trembling follower; then, taking a heavy quirt from his saddle, hesaid with a contemptuous sneer, "Well, why don't you get your drink?"

"I ain't thirsty, Nick, " faltered the other. 

"You ain't thirsty?" mocked the man with a jeering laugh. "You're lying, an' you know it. Get down!"

"Hones' to God, Nick, I don't want no drink, " whimpered Joe, as hismaster toyed with the quirt suggestively. 

"Get down, I tell you!" commanded the big man. 

Joe obeyed, his thin form shaking with fear, and stood shrinking againsthis horse's side, his fearful eyes fixed on the man. 

"Now, come here. "

"Don't, Nick; for God's sake! don't hit me. I didn't mean no harm. Letme off this time, won't you, Nick?"

"Come here. You got it comin', damn you, an' you know it. Come here, Isay!"

As if it were beyond his power to refuse, the wretched creature took ahalting step or two toward the man whose brutal will dominated him; thenhe paused and half turned, as if to attempt escape. But that menacingvoice stopped him. 

"Come here!"

Whimpering and begging, with disconnected, unintelligible words, thepoor fellow again started toward the man with the quirt. 

At the critical moment a quiet, well-schooled voice interrupted thescene. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Cambert!"

Nick whirled with an oath of surprise and astonishment, to face Patches, who was coming leisurely toward him from the bushes above the spring. 

"What are you doin' here?" demanded Nick, while his victim slunk back tohis horse, his eyes fixed upon the intruder with dumb amazement. 

"I came for a drink, " returned Patches coolly. "Excellent water, isn'tit? And the day is really quite warm--makes one appreciate such adelightfully cool retreat, don't you think?"

"Heard us comin' an' thought you'd play the spy, did you?" growled theTailholt Mountain man. 

Patches smiled. "Really, you know, I am afraid I didn't think much aboutit, " he said gently. "I'm troubled that way, you see, " he explained, with elaborate politeness. "Often do things upon impulse, don't youknow--beastly embarrassing sometimes. "

Nick glared at this polite, soft-spoken gentleman, with half-amusedanger. "I heard there was a dude tenderfoot hangin' 'round theCross-Triangle, " he said, at last. "You're sure a hell of a finespecimen. You've had your drink; now s'pose you get a-goin'. "

"I beg pardon?" drawled Patches, looking at him with innocent inquiry. 

"Vamoose! Get out! Go on about your business. "

"Really, Mr. Cambert, I understood that this was open range--" Patcheslooked about, as though carefully assuring himself that he was notmistaken in the spot. 

The big man's eyes narrowed wickedly. "It's closed to you, all right. "Then, as Patches did not move, "Well, are you goin', or have I got tostart you?" He took a threatening step toward the intruder. 

"No, " returned Patches easily, "I am certainly not going--not just atpresent--and, " he added thoughtfully, "if I were you, I wouldn't try tostart _anything_. "

Something in the extraordinary self-possession of this soft-spokenstranger made the big man hesitate. "Oh, you wouldn't, heh?" hereturned. "You mean, I s'pose, that you propose to interfere with mybusiness. "

"If, by your business, you mean beating a man who is so unable toprotect himself, I certainly propose to interfere. "

For a moment Nick glared at Patches as though doubting his own ears. Then rage at the tenderfoot's insolence mastered him. With a vileepithet, he caught the loaded quirt in his hand by its small end, andstrode toward the intruder. 

But even as the big man swung his wicked weapon aloft, a hard fist, withthe weight of a well-trained and well-developed shoulder back of it, found the point of his chin with scientific accuracy. The force of theblow, augmented as it was by Nick's weight as he was rushing to meet it, was terrific. The man's head snapped back, and he spun half around as hefell, so that the uplifted arm with its threatening weapon was twistedunder the heavy bulk that lay quivering and harmless. 

Patches coolly bent over the unconscious man and extracted his gun fromthe holster. Then, stepping back a few paces, he quietly waited. 

Yavapai Joe, who had viewed the proceedings thus far with gaping mouthand frightened wonder, scrambled into his saddle and reined his horseabout, as if to ride for his life. 

"Wait, Joe!" called Patches sharply. 

The weakling paused in pitiful indecision. 

"Nick will be all right in a few minutes, " continued the stranger, reassuringly. "Stay where you are. "

Even as he spoke, the man on the ground opened his eyes. For a moment hegazed about, collecting his shocked and scattered senses. Then, with amad roar, he got to his feet and reached for his gun, but when his handtouched the empty holster a look of dismay swept over his heavy face, and he looked doubtfully toward Patches, with a degree of respect and asomewhat humbled air. 

"Yes, I have your gun, " said Patches soothingly. "You see, I thought itwould be best to remove the temptation. You don't really want to shootme, anyway, you know. You only think you do. When you have had time toconsider it all, calmly, you'll thank me; because, don't you see, Iwould make you a lot more trouble dead than I could possibly, alive. Idon't think that Mr. Baldwin would like to have me all shot to pieces, particularly if the shooting were done by someone from TailholtMountain. And I am quite sure that 'Wild Horse Phil' would be very muchput out about it. "

"Well, what do you want?" growled Nick. "You've got the drop on me. Whatare you after, anyway?"

"What peculiar expressions you western people use!" murmured Patchessweetly. "You say that I have got the drop on you; when, to be exact, you should have said that you got the drop _from_ me--do you see? Good, isn't it?"

Nick's effort at self-control was heroic. 

Patches watched him with an insolent, taunting smile that goaded the manto reckless speech. 

"If you didn't have that gun, I'd--" the big man began, then stopped, for, as he spoke, Patches placed the weapon carefully on a rock and wenttoward him barehanded. 

"You would do what?"

At the crisp, eager question that came in such sharp contrast toPatches' former speech, Nick hesitated and drew back a step. 

Patches promptly moved a step nearer; and his words came, now, in answerto the unfinished threat with cutting force. "What would you do, youbig, hulking swine? You can bully a weakling not half your size; you canbeat a helpless incompetent like a dog; you can bluster, and threaten atenderfoot when you think he fears you; you can attack a man with aloaded quirt when you think him unable to defend himself;--show me whatyou can do _now_. "

The Tailholt Mountain man drew back another step. 

Patches continued his remarks. "You are a healthy specimen, you are. Youhave the frame of a bull with the spirit of a coyote and the courage ofa sucking dove. Now--in your own vernacular--get a-goin'. Vamoose! Getout! I want to talk to your superior over there. "

Sullenly Nick Cambert mounted his horse and turned away toward one ofthe trails leading out from the little arena. 

"Come along, Joe!" he called to his follower. 

"No, you don't, " Patches cut in with decisive force. "Joe, stay whereyou are!"

Nick paused. "What do you mean by that?" he growled. 

"I mean, " returned Patches, "that Joe is free to go with you, or not, ashe chooses. Joe, " he continued, addressing the cause of the controversy, "you need not go with this man. If you wish, you can come with me. I'lltake care of you; and I'll give you a chance to make a man of yourself. "

Nick laughed coarsely. "So, that's your game, is it? Well, it won'twork. I know now why Bill Baldwin's got you hangin' 'round, pretendin'you're a tenderfoot, you damned spy. Come on, Joe. " He turned to rideon; and Joe, with a slinking, sidewise look at Patches, started tofollow. 

Again Patches called, "Wait, Joe!" and his voice was almost pleading. "Can't you understand, Joe? Come with me. Don't be a dog for any man. Let me give you a chance. Be a man, Joe--for God's sake, be a man! Comewith me. "

"Well, " growled Nick to his follower, as Patches finished, "are youcomin' or have I got to go and get you?"

With a sickening, hangdog look Joe mumbled something and rode after hismaster. 

As they disappeared up the trail, Nick called back, "I'll get you yet, you sneakin' spy. "

"Not after you've had time to think it over, " answered Patchescheerfully. "It would interfere too much with your _real_ business. I'llleave your gun at the gate of that old corral up the wash. Good-by, Joe!"

For a few moments longer the strange man stood in the glade, listeningto the vanishing sounds of their going, while that mirthless, self-mocking smile curved his lips. 

"Poor devil!" he muttered sadly, as he turned at last to make his wayback to his horse. "Poor Joe! I know just how he feels. It's hard--it'sbeastly hard to break away. "

"I'm afraid I have made trouble for you, sir, " Patches said ruefully tothe Dean, as he briefly related the incident to his employer and to Philthat afternoon. "I'm sorry; I really didn't stop to think. "

"Trouble!" retorted the Dean, his eyes twinkling approval, while Phillaughed joyously. "Why, man, we've been prayin' for trouble with thatblamed Tailholt Mountain outfit. You're a plumb wonder, young man. Butwhat in thunder was you aimin' to do with that ornery Yavapai Joe, ifhe'd a' took you up on your fool proposition?"

"Really, to tell the truth, " murmured Patches, "I don't exactly know. Ifancied the experiment would be interesting; and I was so sorry for thepoor chap that I--" he stopped, shamefaced, to join in the laugh. 

But, later, the Dean and Phil talked together privately, with the resultthat during the days that followed, as Patches and his teacher rode therange together, the pupil found revolver practice added to his studies. 

The art of drawing and shooting a "six-gun" with quickness and certaintywas often a useful part of the cowboy's training, Phil explainedcheerfully. "In the case, for instance, of a mixup with a bad steer, when your horse falls, or something like that, you know. "

[Illustration: Saddles]

CHAPTER X. 

THE RODEO. 

As the remaining weeks of the summer passed, Patches spent the daysriding the range with Phil, and, under the careful eye of thatexperienced teacher, made rapid progress in the work he had chosen tomaster. The man's intense desire to succeed, his quick intelligence, with his instinct for acting without hesitation, and his recklessdisregard for personal injury, together with his splendid physicalstrength, led him to a mastery of the details of a cowboy's work withremarkable readiness. 

Occasionally the two Cross-Triangle riders saw the men from TailholtMountain, sometimes merely sighting them in the distance, and, again, meeting them face to face at some watering place or on the range. Whenit happened that Nick Cambert was thus forced to keep up a show offriendly relations with the Cross-Triangle, the few commonplaces of thecountry were exchanged, but always the Tailholt Mountain man addressedhis words to Phil, and, save for surly looks, ignored the foreman'scompanion. He had evidently--as Patches had said that he would--come torealize that he could not afford to arouse the cattlemen to actionagainst him, as he would certainly have done, had he attempted to carryout his threat to "get" the man who had so humiliated him. 

But Patches' strange interest in Yavapai Joe in no way lessened. Alwayshe had a kindly word for the poor unfortunate, and sought persistentlyto win the weakling's friendship. And Phil seeing this wondered, butheld his peace. 

Frequently Kitty Reid, sometimes alone, often with the other members ofthe Reid household, came across the big meadow to spend an evening atthe neighboring ranch. Sometimes Phil and Patches, stopping at thePot-Hook-S home ranch, at the close of the day, for a drink at thewindmill pump, would linger a while for a chat with Kitty, who wouldcome from the house to greet them. And now and then Kitty, out for aride on Midnight, would chance to meet the two Cross-Triangle men on therange, and so would accompany them for an hour or more. 

And thus the acquaintance between Patches and the girl grew intofriendship; for Kitty loved to talk with this man of the things thatplay so large a part in that life which so appealed to her; and, withPhil's ever-ready and hearty endorsement of Patches, she felt safe inpermitting the friendship to develop. And Patches, quietly observing, with now and then a conversational experiment--at which game he was anadepts--came to understand, almost as well as if he had been told, Phil's love for Kitty and her attitude toward the cowboy--her one-timeschoolmate and sweetheart. Many times when the three were together, andthe talk, guided by Kitty, led far from Phil's world, the cowboy wouldsit a silent listener, until Patches would skillfully turn the currentback to the land of Granite Mountain and the life in which Phil had sovital a part. 

In the home-life at the Cross-Triangle, too, Patches gradually came tohold his own peculiar place. His cheerful helpfulness, and gentle, never-failing courtesy, no less than the secret pain and sadness thatsometimes, at some chance remark, drove the light from his face andbrought that wistful look into his eyes, won Mrs. Baldwin's heart. Manyan evening under his walnut trees, with Stella and Phil and Curly andBob and Little Billy near, the Dean was led by the rare skill and readywit of Patches to open the book of his kindly philosophy, as he talkedof the years that were past. And sometimes Patches himself, yielding totemptation offered by the Dean, would speak in such vein that the olderman came to understand that this boy, as he so often called him, hadsomewhere, somehow, already experienced that Gethsemane which soon orlate--the Dean maintains--leaves its shadow upon us all. The cowboys, for his quick and genuine appreciation of their skill and knowledge, aswell as for his unassuming courage, hearty good nature and ready laugh, took him into their fellowship without question or reserve, while LittleBilly, loyal ever to his ideal, "Wild Horse Phil, " found a large placein his boyish heart for the tenderfoot who was so ready always torecognize superior wisdom and authority. 

So the stranger found his place among them, and in finding it, foundalso, perhaps, that which he most sorely needed. 

[Illustration:]

When rodeo time came Patches was given a "string" of horses and, throughthe hard, grilling work that followed, took his place among the riders. There was no leisurely roaming over the range now, with only anoccasional short dash after some animal that needed the "iron" or the"dope can;" but systematically and thoroughly the thirty or fortycowboys covered the country--mountain and mesa and flat, and wash andtimbered ridge and rocky pass--for many miles in every direction. 

In this section of the great western cattle country, at the time of mystory, the round-ups were cooperative. Each of the several rancherswhose cattle, marked by the owner's legally recorded brand, ranged overa common district that was defined only by natural boundaries, wasrepresented in the rodeo by one or two or more of his cowboys, thenumber of his riders being relative to the number of cattle marked withhis iron. This company of riders, each with from three to five saddlehorses in his string, would assemble at one of the ranches participatingin the rodeo. From this center they would work until a circle of countrywithin riding distance was covered, the cattle gathered and"worked"--or, in other words, sorted--and the animals belonging to thevarious owners disposed of as the representatives were instructed bytheir employers. Then the rodeo would move to another ranch, and wouldso continue until the entire district of many miles was covered. Theowner or the foreman of each ranch was in charge of the rodeo as long asthe riders worked in his territory. When the company moved to the nextpoint, this loader took his place in the ranks, and cheerfully receivedhis orders from some comrade, who, the day before, had been as willinglyobedient to him. There was little place in the rodeo for weak, incompetent or untrustworthy men. Each owner, from his long experienceand knowledge of men, sent as his representatives the most skillful andconscientious riders that he could secure. To make a top hand at a rodeoa man needed to be, in the truest sense, a man. 

Before daylight, the horse wrangler had driven in the saddle band, andthe men, with nose bags fashioned from grain sacks, were out in thecorral to give the hard-working animals their feed of barley. The grayquiet of the early dawn was rudely broken by the sounds of the crowding, jostling, kicking, squealing band, mingled with the merry voices of themen, with now and then a shout of anger or warning as the cowboys movedhere and there among their restless four-footed companions; and always, like a deep undertone, came the sound of trampling, iron-shod hoofs. 

Before the sky had changed to crimson and gold the call sounded from theranch house, "Come and get it!" and laughing and joking in friendlyrivalry, the boys rushed to breakfast. It was no dainty meal of toastand light cereals that these hardy ones demanded. But huge cuts offresh-killed beef, with slabs of bread, and piles of potatoes, andstacks of hot cakes, and buckets of coffee, and whatever else thehard-working Chinaman could lay his hands on to satisfy their needs. Assoon as each man reached the utmost limit of his capacity, he left thetable without formality, and returned to the corral, where, with riataor persuasion, as the case demanded, he selected from his individualstring of horses his first mount for the day. 

By the time the sun was beginning to gild the summit of old GraniteMountain's castle-like walls, and touch with glorious color the peaks ofthe neighboring sentinel hills, the last rider had saddled, and thecompany was mounted and ready for their foreman's word. Then to themusic of jingling spurs, tinkling bridle chains, squeaking saddleleather, and the softer swish and rustle and flap of chaps, romals andriatas, they rode forth, laughing and joking, still, with now and then aroaring chorus of shouting comment or wild yells, as some half-brokenhorse gave an exhibition of his prowess in a mad effort to unseat hisgrinning rider. 

Soon the leader would call the name of a cowboy, known to beparticularly familiar with the country which was to be the scene of thatday's work, and telling him to take two or three or more men, as thecase might be, would direct him to ride over a certain section, indicating the assigned territory by its natural marks of valley or flator wash or ridge, and designating the point where the cattle would firstbe brought together. The cowboy named would rein his horse aside fromthe main company, calling the men of his choice as he did so, and amoment later with his companions would be lost to sight. A littlefarther, and again the foreman would name a rider, and, telling him topick his men, would assign to him another section of the district to becovered, and this cowboy, with his chosen mates, would ride away. Thesesmaller groups would, in their turn, separate, and thus the entirecompany of riders would open out like a huge fan to sweep thecountryside. 

It was no mere pleasure canter along smoothly graded bridle paths orwell-kept country highways that these men rode. From roughestrock-strewn mountain side and tree-clad slope, from boulder-piledwatercourse and tangled brush, they must drive in the scattered cattle. At reckless speed, as their quarry ran and turned and dodged, they musthesitate at nothing. Climbing to the tops of the hills, scramblingcatlike to the ragged crests of the ridges, sliding down the bluffs, jumping deep arroyos, leaping brush and boulders, twisting, dodgingthrough the timber, they must go as fast as the strength and enduranceof their mounts would permit. And so, gradually, as the sun climbedhigher above the peaks and crags of Old Granite, the great living fan ofmen and horses closed, the courses of the widely scattered ridersleading them, with the cattle they had found, to the given point. 

And now, the cattle, urged by the active horsemen, came streaming fromthe different sections to form the herd, and the quiet of the greatrange was broken by the bawling of confused and frightened calves, thelowing of anxious mothers, the shrill, long-drawn call of the steers, and the deep bellowing of the bulls, as the animals, so rudely drivenfrom their peaceful feeding grounds, moved restlessly within the circleof guarding cowboys, while cows found their calves, and the monarchs ofthe range met in fierce combat. 

A number of the men--those whose mounts most needed the rest--were nowleft to hold the herd, or, perhaps, to move it quietly on to some otherpoint, while the others were again sent out to cover another section ofthe territory included in that day's riding. As the hours passed, andthe great fan of horsemen opened and closed, sweeping the cattlescattered over the range into the steadily growing herd, the rodeo movedgradually toward some chosen open flat or valley that afforded a spacelarge enough for the operations that followed the work of gathering. Atthis "rodeo ground" a man would be waiting with fresh mounts for theriders, and, sometimes, with lunch. Quickly, those whose names werecalled by the foreman would change their saddles from dripping, exhausted horses to fresh animals from their individual strings, snatcha hasty lunch--often to be eaten in the saddle--and then, in their turn, would hold the cattle while their companions followed their example. 

Then came the fast, hot work of "parting" the cattle. Therepresentatives from one of the ranches interested would ride in amongthe cattle held by the circle of cowboys, and, following theirinstructions, would select such animals bearing their employer's brandas were wanted, cutting them out and passing them through the line ofguarding riders, to be held in a separate group. When therepresentatives of one owner had finished, they were followed by the menwho rode for some other outfit; and so on, until the task of "parting"was finished. 

As the afternoon sun moved steadily toward the skyline of the westernhills, the tireless activity of men and horses continued. The cattle, as the mounted men moved among them, drifted about, crowding andjostling, in uneasy discontent, with sometimes an indignant protest, andmany attempts at escape by the more restless and venturesome. When ananimal was singled out, the parting horses, chosen and prized for theirquickness, dashed here and there through the herd with fierce leaps andfurious rushes, stopping short in a terrific sprint to whirl, flashlike, and charge in another direction, as the quarry dodged and doubled. Andnow and then an animal would succeed for the moment in passing the guardline, only to be brought back after a short, sharp chase by the nearestcowboy. From the rodeo ground, where for long years the grass had beentrampled out, the dust, lifted by the trampling thousands of hoofs in adense, choking cloud, and heavy with the pungent odor of warm cattle andthe smell of sweating horses, rising high into the clear air, could beseen from miles away, while the mingled voices of the bellowing, bawlingherd, with now and then the shrill, piercing yells of the cowboys, couldbe heard almost as far. 

When this part of the work was over, some of the riders set out to drivethe cattle selected to the distant home ranch corrals, while others ofthe company remained to brand the calves and to start the animals thatwere to have their freedom until the next rodeo time back to the openrange. And so, at last--often not until the stars were out--the riderswould dismount at the home corrals of the ranch that, at the time, wasthe center of their operations, or, perhaps, at some rodeo campingground. 

At supper the day's work was reviewed with many a laugh and jest ofpointed comment, and then, those whose horses needed attention becauseof saddle sores or, it might be, because of injuries from some fall onthe rocks, busied themselves at the corral, while others met for afriendly game of cards, or talked and yarned over restful pipe orcigarette. And then, bed and blankets, and, all too soon, the reveillesounded by the beating hoofs of the saddle band as the wrangler drovethem in, announced the beginning of another day. 

Not infrequently there were accidents--from falling horses--from angrybulls--from ill-tempered steers, or excited cows--or, perhaps, from acarelessly handled rope in some critical moment. Horses were killed; menwith broken limbs, or with bodies bruised and crushed, were forced todrop out; and many a strong horseman who rode forth in the morning tothe day's work, laughing and jesting with his mates, had been borne byhis grave and silent comrades to some quiet resting place, to await, inlong and dreamless sleep, the morning of that last great rodeo which, weare told, shall gather us all. 

Day after day, as Patches rode with these hardy men, Phil watched himfinding himself and winning his place among the cowboys. They did notfail, as they said, to "try him out. " Nor did Phil, in these trials, attempt in any way to assist his pupil. But the men learned veryquickly, as Curly had learned at the time of Patches' introduction, that, while the new man was always ready to laugh with them when a jokewas turned against himself, there was a line beyond which it was notwell to go. In the work he was, of course, assigned only to such partsas did not require the skill and knowledge of long training andexperience. But he did all that was given him to do with such readinessand skill, thanks to Phil's teaching, that the men wondered. And this, together with his evident ability in the art of defending himself, andthe story of his strange coming to the Cross-Triangle, caused not alittle talk, with many and varied opinions as to who he was, and what itwas that had brought him among them. Strangely enough, very few believedthat Patches' purpose in working as a cowboy for the Dean was simply toearn an honest livelihood. They felt instinctively--as, in fact, didPhil and the Dean--that there was something more beneath it all thansuch a commonplace. 

Nick Cambert, who, with Yavapai Joe, rode in the rodeo, carefullyavoided the stranger. But Patches, by his persistent friendly interestin the Tailholt Mountain man's follower, added greatly to the warmth ofthe discussions and conjectures regarding himself. The rodeo had reachedthe Pot-Hook-S Ranch, with Jim Reid in charge, when the incidentoccurred which still further stimulated the various opinions andsuggestions as to the new man's real character and mission. 

They were working the cattle that day on the rodeo ground just outsidethe home ranch corral. Phil and Curly were cutting out someCross-Triangle steers, when the riders, who were holding the cattle, sawthem separate a nine-months-old calf from the herd, and start it, nottoward the cattle they had already cut out, but toward the corral. 

Instantly everybody knew what had happened. 

The cowboy nearest the gate did not need Phil's word to open it for hisneighbor next in line to drive the calf inside. 

Not a word was said until the calves to be branded were also driven intothe corral. Then Phil, after a moment's talk with Jim Reid, rode up toNick Cambert, who was sitting on his horse a little apart from the groupof intensely interested cowboys. The Cross-Triangle foreman's tone wascurt. "I reckon I'll have to trouble you to vent your brand on thatCross-Triangle calf, Nick. "

The Tailholt Mountain man made no shallow pretense that he did notunderstand. "Not by a damn sight, " he returned roughly. "I ain't raisin'calves for Bill Baldwin, an' I happen to know what I'm talkin' aboutthis trip. That's a Four-Bar-M calf, an' I branded him myself over inHorse Wash before he left the cow. Some of your punchers are too damnedhandy with their runnin' irons, Mr. Wild Horse Phil. "

For a moment Phil looked at the man, while Jim Reid moved his horsenearer, and the cowboys waited, breathlessly. Then, without taking hiseyes from the Tailholt Mountain man's face, Phil called sharply:

"Patches, come here!"

There was a sudden movement among the riders, and a subdued murmur, asPatches rode forward. 

"Is that calf you told me about in the corral, Patches?" asked Phil, when the man was beside him. 

"Yes, sir; that's him over there by that brindle cow. " Patches indicatedthe animal in question. 

"And you put our iron on him?" asked Phil, still watching Nick. 

"I did, " returned Patches, coolly. 

"Tell us about it, " directed the Dean's foreman. 

And Patches obeyed, briefly. "It was that day you sent me to fix thefence on the southwest corner of the big pasture. I saw a bunch ofcattle a little way outside the fence, and went to look them over. Thiscalf was following a Cross-Triangle cow. "

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. I watched them for half an hour. "

"What was in the bunch?"

"Four steers, a Pot-Hook-S bull, five cows and this calf. There werethree Five-Bar cows, one Diamond-and-a-Half and one Cross-Triangle. Thecalf went to the Cross-Triangle cow every time. And, besides, he ismarked just like his mother. I saw her again this afternoon while wewere working the cattle. "

Phil nodded. "I know her. "

Jim Reid was watching Patches keenly, with a quiet look now and then atNick. 

The cowboys were murmuring among themselves. 

"Pretty good work for a tenderfoot!"

"Tenderfoot, hell!"

"They've got Nick this trip. "

"Got nothin'! Can't you see it's a frame-up?"

Phil spoke to Nick. "Well, are satisfied? Will you vent your brand?"

The big man's face was distorted with passion. "Vent nothin', " heroared. "On the word of a damned sneakin' tenderfoot! I--"

He stopped, as Patches, before Phil could check the movement, pushedclose to his side. 

In the sudden stillness the new man's cool, deliberate voice soundedclearly. "I am positive that you made a mistake when you put your ironon that calf, Mr. Cambert. And, " he added slowly, as though with thekindest possible intention, "I am sure that you can safely take my wordfor it without further question. "

For a moment Nick glared at Patches, speechless. Then, to the amazementof every cowboy in the corral, the big man mumbled a surly something, and took down his riata to rope the calf and disclaim his ownership ofthe animal. 

Jim Reid shook his head in puzzled doubt. 

The cowboys were clearly divided. 

"He's too good a hand for a tenderfoot, " argued one; "carried that offlike an old-timer. "

"'Tain't like Nick to lay down so easy for anybody, " added another. 

"Nick's on to something about Mr. Patches that we ain't next to, "insisted a third. 

"Or else we're all bein' strung for a bunch of suckers, " offered stillanother. 

"You boys just hold your horses, an' ride easy, " said Curly. "My money'sstill on Honorable Patches. "

And Bob added his loyal support with his cheerful "Me, too!"

"It all looked straight enough, " Jim Reid admitted to the Dean thatevening, "but I can't get away from the notion that there was some sortof an understanding between your man an' that damned Tailholt Mountainthief. It looked like it was all too quiet an' easy somehow; like it hadbeen planned beforehand. "

The Dean laughingly told his neighbor that he was right; that there wasan understanding between Patches and Nick, and then explained byrelating how Patches had met the Tailholt Mountain men that day at thespring. 

When the Dean had finished the big cowman asked several very suggestivequestions. How did the Dean know that Patches' story was anything morethan a cleverly arranged tale, invented for the express purpose ofallaying any suspicion as to his true relationship with Nick? IfPatches' character was so far above suspicion, why did he always dodgeany talk that might touch his past? Was it necessary or usual for men tokeep so close-mouthed about themselves? What did the Dean, or anyoneelse, for that matter, really know about this man who had appeared sostrangely from nowhere, and had given a name even that was so plainly aridiculous invention? The Dean must remember that the suspicion as tothe source of Nick's too rapidly increasing herds had, so far, beendirected wholly against Nick himself, and that the owner of theFour-Bar-M iron was not altogether a fool. It was quite time, Reidargued, for Nick to cease his personal activities, and to trust theactual work of branding to some confederate whose movements would not beso closely questioned. In short, Reid had been expecting some strangerto seek a job with some of the ranches that were in a position tocontribute to the Tailholt Mountain outfit, and, for his part, he wouldawait developments before becoming too enthusiastic over HonorablePatches. 

All of which the good Dean found very hard to answer. 

"But look here, Jim, " he protested, "don't you go makin' it unpleasantfor the boy. Whatever you think, you don't know any more than the restof us. If we're guessin' on one side, you're guessin' on the other. Iadmit that what you say sounds reasonable; but, hang it, I like Patches. As for his name--well--we didn't use to go so much on names, in thiscountry, you know. The boy may have some good reason for not talkin'about himself. Just give him a square chance; don't put no burrs underhis saddle blanket--that's all I'm askin'. "

Jim laughed. The speech was so characteristic of the Dean, and Jim Reidloved his old friend and neighbor, as all men did, for being, as wascommonly said, "so easy. "

"Don't worry, Will, " he answered. "I'm not goin' to start anything. If Ishould happen to be right about Mr. Honorable Patches, he's exactlywhere we want him. I propose to keep my eye on him, that's all. And Ithink you an' Phil had better do the same. "

CHAPTER XI. 

AFTER THE RODEO. 

As the fall rodeo swept on its way over the wide ranges, the lastreluctant bits of summer passed, and hints of the coming winter began toappear The yellow glory of the goldenrod, and the gorgeous banks ofcolor on sunflower flats faded to earthy russet and brown; the whitecups of the Jimson weed were broken and lost; the dainty pepper-grass, the thin-leafed grama-grass, and the heavier bladed bear-grass of thegreat pasture lands were dry and tawny; and the broom-weed that hadtufted the rolling hills with brighter green, at the touch of the firstfrost, turned a dull and somber gray; while the varied beauties of thevalley meadows became even as the dead and withered leaves of the Dean'swalnut trees that, in falling, left the widespread limbs and branches sobare. 

Then the rodeo and the shipping were over; the weeks of the late fallrange riding were past--and it was winter. 

From skyline to skyline the world was white, save for the dark pinesupon the mountain sides, the brighter cedars and junipers upon the hillsand ridges, and the living green of the oak brush, that, when all elsewas covered with snow, gave the cattle their winter feed. 

More than ever, now, with the passing of the summer and fall, Kittylonged for the stirring life that, in some measure, had won her from thescenes of her home and from her homeland friends. The young woman'sfriendship with Patches--made easy by the fact that the Baldwins hadtaken him so wholly into their hearts--served to keep alive her memoriesof that world to which she was sure he belonged, and such memories didnot tend to make Kitty more contented and happy in Williamson Valley. 

Toward Phil, Kitty was unchanged. Many times her heart called for him soinsistently that she wished she had never learned to know any life otherthan that life to which they had both been born. If only she had notspent those years away from home--she often told herself--it would allhave been so different. She could have been happy with Phil--veryhappy--if only she had remained in his world. But now--now she wasafraid--afraid for him as well as for herself. Her friendship withPatches had, in so many ways, emphasized the things that stood betweenher and the man whom, had it not been for her education, she would haveaccepted so gladly as her mate. 

Many times when the three were together, and Kitty had led the talk farfrom the life with which the cowboy was familiar, the young woman wasforced, against the wish of her heart, to make comparisons. Kitty didnot understand that Phil--unaccustomed to speaking of things outside hiswork and the life interests of his associates, and timid always inexpressing his own thoughts--found it very hard to reveal the realwealth of his mind to her when she assumed so readily that he knewnothing beyond his horses and cattle. But Patches, to whom Phil hadlearned to speak with little reserve, understood. And, knowing that thewall which the girl felt separated her from the cowboy was built almostwholly of her own assumptions, Patches never lost an opportunity to helpthe young woman to a fuller acquaintance with the man whom she thoughtshe had known since childhood. 

During the long winter months, many an evening at the Cross-Triangle, atthe Reid home, or, perhaps, at some neighborhood party or dance, afforded Kitty opportunities for a fuller understanding of Phil, butresulted only in establishing a closer friendship with Patches. 

Then came the spring. 

The snow melted; the rains fell; the washes and creek channels werefilled with roaring floods; hill and ridge and mountain slope and mesaawoke to the new life that was swelling in every branch and leaf andblade; the beauties of the valley meadow appeared again in fresh andfragrant loveliness; while from fence-post and bush and grassy bank andnew-leaved tree the larks and mocking birds and doves voiced their gladreturn. 

And, with the spring, came a guest to the Cross-Triangle Ranch--anotherstranger. 

Patches had been riding the drift fence, and, as he made his way towardthe home ranch, in the late afternoon, he looked a very different manfrom the Patches who, several months before, had been rescued by Kittyfrom a humiliating experience with that same fence. 

The fact that he was now riding Stranger, the big bay with the blazedface, more than anything else, perhaps, marked the change that had cometo the man whom the horse had so viciously tested, on that day when theybegan together their education and work on the Cross-Triangle Ranch. 

No one meeting the cowboy, who handled his powerful and wild spiritedmount with such easy confidence and skill, would have identified himwith the white-faced, well-tailored gentleman whom Phil had met on theDivide. The months of active outdoor life had given his tall body alithe and supple strength that was revealed in his every movement, whilewind and sun had stained his skin that deep tan which marks those whomust face the elements every waking hour. Prom tinkling bridle chain andjingling spur, to the coiled riata, his equipment showed theunmistakable marks of use. His fringed chaps, shaped, by many a day inthe saddle, to his long legs, expressed experience, while his broad hat, soiled by sweat and dust, had acquired individuality, and his veryjumper--once blue but now faded and patched--disclaimed the tenderfoot. 

Riding for a little way along the top of the ridge that forms thewestern edge of the valley, Patches looked down upon the red roofs ofthe buildings of the home ranch, and smiled as he thought of the welcomethat awaited him there at the close of his day's work. The Dean andStella, with Little Billy, and Phil, and the others of the home circle, had grown very dear to this strong man of whom they still knew nothing;and great as was the change in his outward appearance and manner, theman himself knew that there were other changes as great. HonorablePatches had not only acquired a name and a profession, but in acquiringthem he had gained something of much greater worth to himself. And so hewas grateful to those who, taking him on trust, had helped him more thanthey knew. 

He had left the ridge, and was half way across the flat toward thecorrals, when Little Billy, spurring old Sheep in desperate energy, rodewildly out to meet him. 

As the lad approached, he greeted his big friend with shrill, boyishshouts, and Patches answered with a cowboy yell which did credit to histraining, while Stranger, with a wild, preliminary bound into the air, proceeded, with many weird contortions, to give an exhibition whichfairly expressed his sentiments. 

Little Billy grinned with delight. "Yip! Yip! Yee-e-e!" he shrilled, forStranger's benefit. And then, as the big horse continued hismanifestations, the lad added the cowboy's encouraging admonition to therider. "Stay with him, Patches! Stay with him!"

Patches laughingly stayed with him. "What you aimin' to do, pardner"--heasked good-naturedly, when Stranger at last consented to keep two feeton the ground at the same time--"tryin' to get me piled?"

"Shucks!" retorted the youngster admiringly. "I don't reckon anythingcould pile you, _now_. I come out to tell you that we got company, " headded, as, side by side, they rode on toward the corrals. 

Patches was properly surprised. "Company!" he exclaimed. 

Little Billy grinned proudly. "Yep. He's a man--from way back Eastsomewhere. Uncle Will brought him out from town. They got here justafter dinner. I don't guess he's ever seen a ranch before. Gee! butwon't we have fun with him!"

Patches face was grave as he listened. "How do you know he is from theEast, Billy?" he asked, concealing his anxious interest with a smile athis little comrade. 

"Heard Uncle Will tell Phil and Kitty. "

"Oh, Kitty is at the house, too, is she?"

Billy giggled. "She an' Phil's been off somewheres ridin' together mostall day; they just got back a while ago. They was talkin' with thecompany when I left. Phil saw you when you was back there on the ridge, an' I come on out to tell you. "

Phil and Kitty were walking toward their horses, which were standingnear the corral fence, as Patches and Little Billy came through thegate. 

The boy dropped from his saddle, and ran on into the house to tell hisAunt Stella that Patches had come, leaving Sheep to be looked after bywhoever volunteered for the service. It was one of Little Billy'shumiliations that he was not yet tall enough to saddle or bridle his ownhorse, and the men tactfully saw to it that his mount was always readyin the morning, and properly released at night, without any embarrassingcomments on the subject. 

Patches checked his horse, and without dismounting greeted his friends. "You're not going?" he said to Kitty, with a note of protest in hisvoice. "I haven't seen you for a week. It's not fair for Phil to takeadvantage of his position and send me off somewhere alone while hespends his time riding over the country with you. "

They laughed up at him as he sat there on the big bay, hat in hand, looking down into their upturned faces with the intimate, friendlyinterest of an older brother. 

Patches noticed that Kitty's eyes were bright with excitement, and thatPhil's were twinkling with suppressed merriment. 

"I must go, Patches, " said the young woman. "I ought to have gone twohours ago; but I was so interested that the time slipped away before Irealized. "

"We have company, " explained Phil, looking at Patches and deliberatelyclosing one eye--the one that Kitty could not see. "A distinguishedguest, if you please. I'll loan you a clean shirt for supper; that is, if mother lets you eat at the same table with him. "

"Phil, how can you!" protested Kitty. 

The two men laughed, but Phil fancied that there was a hint of anxietyin Patches' face, as the man on the horse said, "Little Billy broke thenews to me. Who is he?"

"A friend of Judge Morris in Prescott, " answered Phil. "The Judge askedUncle Will to take him on the ranch for a while. He and the Judgewere--"

Kitty interrupted with enthusiasm. "It is Professor Parkhill, Patches, the famous professor of aesthetics, you know: Everard Charles Parkhill. And he's going to spend the summer in Williamson Valley! Isn't itwonderful!"

Phil saw a look of relief in his friend's face as Patches answered Kittywith sympathetic interest. "It certainly will be a great pleasure, MissReid, especially for you, to have one so distinguished for hisscholarship in the neighborhood. Is Professor Parkhill visiting Arizonafor his health?"

Something in Patches' voice caused Phil to turn hastily aside. 

But Kitty, who was thinking how perfectly Patches understood her, noticed nothing in his grave tones save his usual courteous deference. 

"Partly because of his health, " she answered, "but he is going toprepare a series of lectures, I understand. He says that in the crudeand uncultivated mentalities of our--"

"Here he is now, " interrupted Phil, as the distinguished guest of theCross-Triangle appeared, coming slowly toward them. 

Professor Everard Charles Parkhill looked the part to which, from hisbirth, he had been assigned by his over-cultured parents. His slenderbody, with its narrow shoulders and sunken chest, frail as it was, seemed almost too heavy for his feeble legs. His thin face, bloodlessand sallow, with a sparse, daintily trimmed beard and weak watery eyes, was characterized by a solemn and portentous gravity, as though, realizing fully the profound importance of his mission in life, he couldpermit no trivial thought to enter his bald, domelike head. One knewinstinctively that in all the forty-five or fifty years of his littlelife no happiness or joy that had not been scientifically sterilized andcertified had ever been permitted to stain his super-aesthetic soul. 

As he came forward, he gazed at the long-limbed man on the big bay horsewith a curious eagerness, as though he were considering a strange andinteresting creature that could scarcely be held to belong to the humanrace. 

"Professor Parkhill, " said Phil coolly, "you were saying that you hadnever seen a genuine cowboy in his native haunt. Permit me to introducea typical specimen, Mr. Honorable Patches. Patches, this is ProfessorParkhill. "

"Phil, " murmured Kitty, "how can you?"

The Professor was gazing at Patches as though fascinated. And Patches, his weather-beaten face as grave as the face of a wooden Indian, staredback at the Professor with a blank, open-mouthed and wild-eyedexpression of rustic wonder that convulsed Phil and made Kitty turn awayto hide a smile. 

"Howdy! Proud to meet up with you, mister, " drawled the typical specimenof the genus cowboy. And then, as though suddenly remembering hismanners, he leaped to the ground and strode awkwardly forward, one handoutstretched in greeting, the other holding fast to Stranger's bridlerein, while the horse danced and plunged about with recklessindifference to the polite intentions of his master. 

The Professor backed fearfully away from the dangerous looking horse andthe equally formidable-appearing cowboy. Whereat Patches addressedStranger with a roar of savage wrath. 

"Whoa! You consarned, square-headed, stiff-legged, squint-eyed, lop-eared, four-flusher, you. Whoa, I tell you! Cain't you see I'ma-wantin' to shake hands with this here man what the boss has interducedme to?"

Phil nearly choked. Kitty was looking unutterable things. They did notknow that Patches was suffering from a reaction caused by the discoverythat he had never before met Professor Parkhill. 

"You see, mister, " he explained gravely, advancing again with Strangerfollowing nervously, "this here fool horse ain't used to strangers, nohow, 'specially them as don't look, as you might say, just naturallike. " He finished with a sheepish grin, as he grasped the visitor'ssoft little hand and pumped it up and down with virile energy. Then, staring with bucolic wonder at the distinguished representative of thehighest culture, he asked, "Be you an honest-to-God professor? I'veheard about such, but I ain't never seen one before. "

The little man replied hurriedly, but with timid pride, "Certainly, sir;yes, certainly. "

"You be!" exclaimed the cowboy, as though overcome by his nearness tosuch dignity. "Excuse me askin', but if you don't mind, now--what be youprofessor of?"

The other answered with more courage, as though his soul found strengthin the very word: "Aesthetics. "

The cowboy's jaw dropped, his mouth opened in gaping awe, and he lookedfrom the professor to Phil and Kitty, as if silently appealing to themto verify this startling thing which he had heard. "You don't say!" hemurmured at last in innocent admiration. "Well, now, to think of alittle feller like you a-bein' all that! But jest what be them thereesteticks what you're professor of--if you don't mind my askin'?"

The distinguished scholar answered promptly, in his best platform voice, "The science or doctrine of the nature of beauty and of judgments oftastes. "

At this, Stranger, with a snort of fear, stood straight up on his hindlegs, and Professor Parkhill scuttled to a position of safety behindPhil. 

"Excuse me, folks, " said Patches. "I'm just naturally obliged to 'tendto this here thing what thinks he's a hoss. Come along, you ornery, pigeon-toed, knock-kneed, sway-backed, wooly-haired excuse, you. Youain't got no more manners 'n a measly coyote. "

The famous professor of aesthetics stood with Phil and Kitty watchingPatches as that gentleman relieved the dancing bay of the saddle, andled him away through the corrals to the gate leading into the meadowpasture. 

"I beg pardon, " murmured the visitor in his thin, little voice, "butwhat did I understand you to say is the fellow's name?"

"Patches; Honorable Patches, " answered Phil. 

"How strange! how extraordinarily strange! I should be very interestedto know something of his ancestry, and, if possible, to trace theorigin of such a peculiar name. "

Phil replied with exaggerated concern. "For heaven's sake, sir, don'tsay anything about the man's name in his hearing. "

"He--he is dangerous, you mean?"

"He is, if he thinks anyone is making light of his name. You should asksome of the boys who have tried it. "

"But I--I assure you, Mr. Acton, I had no thought of ridicule--far fromit. Oh, very far from it. "

Kitty was obliged to turn away. She arrived at the corral in time tomeet Patches, who was returning. 

"You ought to be ashamed, " she scolded. But in spite of herself her eyeswere laughing. 

"Yes, ma'am, " said Patches meekly, hat in hand. 

"How could you do such a thing?" she demanded. 

"How could I help doing it?"

"How could you help it?"

"Yes. You saw how he looked at me. Really, Miss Reid, I couldn't bear todisappoint him so cruelly. Honestly, now, wasn't I exactly what heexpected me to be? I think you should compliment me. Didn't I do it verywell?"

"But, he'll think you're nothing but a cowboy, " she protested. 

"Fine!" retorted Patches, quickly. "I thank you, Miss Reid; that isreally the most satisfactory compliment I have ever received. "

"You're mocking me now, " said Kitty, puzzled by his manner. 

"Indeed, I am not. I am very serious, " he returned. "But here he comesagain. With your gracious permission, I'll make my exit. Please don'texplain to the professor. It would humiliate me, and think how it wouldshock and disappoint him!"

Lifting his saddle from the ground and starting toward the shed, he saidin a louder tone, "Sure, I won't ferget, Miss Kitty; an' you kin tellyour paw that there baldfaced steer o' his'n, what give us the slip lastrodeo time, is over in our big pasture. I sure seen him thar to-day. "

During the days immediately following that first meeting, Kitty passedmany hours with Professor Parkhill. Phil and his cowboys were busypreparing for the spring rodeo. Mrs. Baldwin was wholly occupied withministering to the animal comforts of her earthly household. And theDean, always courteous and kind to his guest, managed, nevertheless, tothink of some pressing business that demanded his immediate and personalattention whenever the visitor sought to engage him in conversation. Theprofessor, quite naturally holding the cattleman to be but a rude, illiterate and wholly materialistic creature, but little superior inintellectual and spiritual powers to his own beasts, sought merely toinvestigate the Dean's mental works, with as little regard for theDean's feelings as a biologist would show toward a hug. The Deanconfided to Phil and Patches, one day when he had escaped to theblacksmith shop where the men were shoeing their horses, that theprofessor was harmlessly insane. "Just think, " he exploded, "of thepoor, little fool livin' in Chicago for three years, an' never oncegoin' out to the stockyards even!"

It remained, therefore, for Kitty--the only worshiper of the professor'sgods in Williamson Valley--to supply that companionship which seems sonecessary even to those whose souls are so far removed from materialwants. In short, as Little Billy put it, with a boy's irreverence, "Kitty rode herd on the professor. " And, strangely enough to them all, Kitty seemed to like the job. 

Either because her friendship with Patches--which had some to mean agreat deal to Kitty--outweighed her respect and admiration for thedistinguished object of his fun, or because she waited for someopportunity to make the revelation a punishment to the offender, theyoung woman did not betray the real character of the cowboy to thestranger. And the professor, thanks to Phil's warning, not onlyrefrained from investigating the name of Patches, but carefully avoidedPatches himself. In the meantime, the "typical specimen" was forced totake a small part in the table talk lest he betray himself. So markedwas this that Mrs. Baldwin one day, not understanding, openly chided himfor being so "glum. " Whereupon the Dean--to whom Phil had thoughtfullyexplained--teased the deceiver unmercifully, with many laughinglyalleged reasons for his "grouch, " while Curly and Bob, attributing theircomrade's manner to the embarrassing presence of the stranger, grinnedsympathetically; and the professor himself--unconsciously agreeing withthe cowboys--with kindly condescension tried to make the victim of hisaugust superiority as much at ease as possible; which naturally, forthe Dean and Phil, added not a little to the situation. 

Then the spring rodeo took the men far from the home ranch, and forseveral weeks the distinguished guest of the Cross-Triangle was leftalmost wholly to the guardianship of the young woman who lived on theother side of the big meadows. 

It was the last day of the rodeo, when Phil rode to the home ranch, latein the afternoon, to consult with the Dean about the shipping. Patchesand the cowboys who were to help in the long drive to the railroad wereat Toohey with the cattle. While the cowboys were finishing their earlybreakfast the next morning, the foreman returned, and Patches knew, almost before Phil spoke, that something had happened. They shoutedtheir greetings as he approached, but he had no smile for their cheeryreception, nor did he answer, even, until he had ridden close to thegroup about the camp fire. Then, with a short "mornin', boys, " hedismounted and stood with the bridle reins in his hand. 

At his manner a hush fell over the little company, and they watched himcuriously. 

"No breakfast, Sam, " he said, shortly, to the Chinaman. "Just a cup ofcoffee. " Then to the cowboys, "You fellows saddle up and get that bunchof cattle to moving. We'll load at Skull Valley. "

Sam brought his coffee and he drank it as he stood, while the menhurriedly departed for their horses. Patches, the last to go, paused amoment, as though to speak, but Phil prevented him with a gruff order. "Get a move on you, Patches. Those cars will be there long before weare. "

And Patches, seeing the man's face dark and drawn with pain, moved awaywithout a word. 

"Great snakes, " softly ejaculated Curly a few moments later, as Patchesstooped to take his saddle from where it lay on the ground besideCurly's. "What do you reckon's eatin' the boss? Him an' the Deancouldn't 'a' mixed it last night, could they? Do you reckon the Deancrawled him about somethin'?"

Patches shook his head with a "Search me, pardner, " as he turned to hishorse. 

"Somethin's happened sure, " muttered the other, busy with his saddleblanket. "Sufferin' cats! but I felt like he'd poured a bucket of icewater down my neck!" He drew the cinch tight with a vigorous jerk thatbrought a grunt of protest from his mount. "That's right, " he continued, addressing the horse, "hump yourself, an' swell up and grunt, damn you;you ought to be thankin' God that you ain't nothin' but a hoss, nohow, with no feelin' 'cept what's in your belly. " He dropped the heavystirrup with a vicious slap, and swung to his seat. "If Phil's a-goin'to keep up the way he's startin', we'll sure have a pleasant little ol'ride to Skull Valley. Oh, Lord! but I wisht I was a professor of themthere exteticks, or somethin' nice and gentle like, jest for to-day, anyhow. "

Patches laughed. "Think you could qualify, Curly?"

The cowboy grinned as they rode off together. "So far as I've noticedthe main part of the work, I could. The shade of them walnut trees atthe home ranch, or the Pot-Hook-S front porch, an' a nice easy rockin'chair with fat cushions, or mebby the buckboard onct in a while, withKitty to do the drivin'--Say, this has sure been some little ol' rodeo, ain't it? I ain't got a hoss in my string that can more'n stand up, an'honest to God, Patches, I'm jest corns all over. How's your saddle feel, this mornin'?"

"It's got corns, too, " admitted Patches. "But there's Phil; we'd betterbe riding. "

All that day Phil kept to himself, speaking to his companions only whenspeech could not be avoided, and then with the fewest possible words. That night, he left the company as soon as he had finished his supper, and went off somewhere alone, and Patches heard him finding his bed, long after the other members of the outfit were sound asleep. And thefollowing day, through the trying work of loading the cattle, the youngforeman was so little like himself that, had it not been that his menwere nearly all old-time, boyhood friends who had known him all hislife, there would surely have been a mutiny. 

It was late in the afternoon, when the last reluctant steer was proddedand pushed up the timbered runway from the pens, and crowded into thecar. Curly and Bob were going with the cattle train. The others wouldremain at Skull Valley until morning, when they would start for theirwidely separated homes. Phil announced that he was going to the homeranch that night. 

"You can make it home sometime to-morrow, Patches, " he finished, whenhe had said good-by to the little group of men with whom he had livedand worked in closest intimacy through the long weeks of the rodeo. Hereined his horse about, even as he spoke, to set out on his long ride. 

The Cross-Triangle foreman was beyond hearing of the cowboys whenPatches overtook him. "Do you mind if I go back to the Cross-Trianglewith you to-night, Phil?" the cowboy asked quietly. 

Phil checked his horse and looked at his friend a moment withoutanswering. Then, in a kindlier tone than he had used the past two days, he said, "You better stay here with the boys, and get your night's rest, Patches. You have had a long hard spell of it in this rodeo, andyesterday and to-day have not been exactly easy. Shipping is alwayshell, even when everybody is in a good humor, " he smiled grimly. 

"If you do not object, I would really like to go, " said Patches simply. 

"But your horse is as tired as you ought to be, " protested Phil. 

"I'm riding Stranger, you know, " the other answered. 

To which Phil replied tersely, "Let's be riding, then. "

The cowboys, who had been watching the two men, looked at each other inamazement as Phil and Patches rode away together. 

"Well, what do you make of that?" exclaimed one. 

"Looks like Honorable Patches was next, " commented another. 

"Us old-timers ain't in it when it comes to associatin' with the boss, "offered a third. 

"You shut up on that line, " came sharply from Curly. "Phil ain't turnin'us down for nobody. I reckon if Patches is fool enough to want to rideto the Cross-Triangle to-night Phil ain't got no reason for stoppin'him. If any of you punchers wants to make the ride, the way's open, ain't it?"

"Now, don't you go on the prod, too, " soothed the other. "We wasn'tmeanin' nothin' agin Phil. "

"Well, what's the matter with Patches?" demanded the Cross-Triangle man, whose heart was sorely troubled by the mystery of his foreman's mood. 

"Ain't nobody _said_ as there was anything the matter. Fact is, don'tnobody _know_ that there is. "

And for some reason Curly had no answer. 

"Don't it jest naturally beat thunder the way he's cottoned up to thatyellow dog of a Yavapai Joe?" mused another, encouraged by Curly'ssilence. "Three or four of the boys told how they'd seen 'em togetheroff an' on, but I didn't think nothin' of it until I seen 'em myselfwhen we was workin' over at Tailholt. It was one evenin' after supper. Iwent down to the corral to fix up that Pedro horse's back, when I heardvoices kind o' low like. I stopped a minute, an' then sort o' easedalong in the dark, an' run right onto 'em where they was a-settin' inthe door o' the saddle room, cozy as you please. Yavapai sneaked awaywhile I was gettin' the lantern an' lightin' it, but Patches, he jeststayed an' held the light for me while I fixed ol' Pedro, jest as ifnothin' had happened. "

"Well, " said Curly sarcastically, "what _had_ happened?"

"I don't know-nothin'--mebby. "

"If Patches was what some o' you boys seem to think, do you reckon he'dbe a-ridin' for the Cross-Triangle?" demanded Curly. 

"He might, an' he mightn't, " retorted two or three at once. 

"Nobody can't say nothin' in a case like that until the show-down, "added one. "I don't reckon the Dean knows any more than the rest of us. "

"Unless Patches is what some of the other boys are guessin', " saidanother. 

"Which means, " finished Curly, in a tone of disgust, "that we've got tomillin' 'round the same old ring again. Come on, Bob; let's see whatthey've got for supper. That engine'll happen along directly, an' we'llbe startin' hungry. "

Phil Acton was not ignorant of the different opinions that were held bythe cattlemen regarding Honorable Patches. Nor, as the responsibleforeman of the Cross-Triangle, could he remain indifferent to them. During those first months of Patches' life on the ranch, when thecowboy's heart had so often been moved to pity for the stranger who hadcome to them apparently from some painful crisis in his life, he hadlaughed at the suspicions of his old friends and associates. But as themonths had passed, and Patches had so rapidly developed into a strong, self-reliant man, with a spirit of bold recklessness that was markedeven among those hardy riders of the range, Phil forgot, in a measure, those characteristics that the stranger had shown at the beginning oftheir acquaintance. At the same time, the persistent suspicions of thecattlemen, together with Patches' curious, and, in a way, secretinterest in Yavapai Joe, could not but have a decided influence upon theyoung man who was responsible for the Dean's property. 

It was inevitable, under the circumstances, that Phil's attitude towardPatches should change, even as the character of Patches himself hadchanged. While the foreman's manner of friendship and kindly regardremained, so far, unaltered, and while Phil still, in his heart, believed in his friend, and--as he would have said--"would continue toback his judgment until the show-down, " nevertheless that spirit ofintimacy which had so marked those first days of their work together hadgradually been lost to them. The cowboy no longer talked to hiscompanion, as he had talked that day when they lay in the shade of thewalnut tree at Toohey, and during the following days of their rangeriding. He no longer admitted his friend into his inner life, as he haddone that day when he told Patches the story of the wild stallion. AndPatches, feeling the change, and unable to understand the reason for it, waited patiently for the time when the cloud that had fallen betweenthem should lift. 

So they rode together that night, homeward bound, at the end of thelong, hard weeks of the rodeo, in the deepening gloom of the day'spassing, in the hushed stillness of the wild land, under the wide skywhere the starry sentinel hosts were gathering for their ever-faithfulwatch. And as they rode, their stirrups often touching, each was alonewith his own thoughts. Phil, still in the depth of his somber mood, brooded over his bitter trouble. Patches, sympathetically wondering, silently questioning, wished that he could help. 

There are times when a man's very soul forces him to seek companionship. Alone in the night with this man for whom, even at that first moment oftheir meeting on the Divide, he had felt a strange sense of kinship, Phil found himself drifting far from the questions that had risen to marthe closeness of their intimacy. The work of the rodeo was over; hiscowboy associates, with their suggestive talk, were far away. Under theinfluence of the long, dark miles of that night, and the silent presenceof his companion, the young man, for the time being, was no longer theresponsible foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. In all that vast andsilent world there was, for Phil Acton, only himself, his trouble, andhis friend. 

And so it came about that, little by little, the young man told Patchesthe story of his dream, and of how it was now shattered and broken. 

Sometimes bitterly, as though he felt injustice; sometimes harshly, asthough in contempt for some weakness of his own; with sentences brokenby the pain he strove to subdue, with halting words and long silences, Phil told of his plans for rebuilding the home of his boyhood, and ofrestoring the business that, through the generosity of his father, hadbeen lost; of how, since his childhood almost, he had worked and savedto that end; and of his love for Kitty, which had been the very light ofhis dream, and without which for him there was no purpose in dreaming. And the man who rode so close beside him listened with a fullerunderstanding and a deeper sympathy than Phil knew. 

"And now, " said Phil hopelessly, "it's all over. I've sure come to theend of my string. Reid has put the outfit on the market. He's going tosell out and quit. Uncle Will told me night before last when I went hometo see about the shipping. "

"Reid is going to sell!" exclaimed Patches; and there was a curious noteof exultation in his voice which Phil did not hear. Neither did Phil seethat his companion was smiling to himself under cover of the darkness. 

"It's that damned Professor Parkhill that's brought it about, " continuedthe cowboy bitterly. "Ever since Kitty came home from the East she hasbeen discontented and dissatisfied with ranch life. I was all right whenshe went away, but when she came back she discovered that I was nothingbut a cow-puncher. She has been fair, though. She has tried to get backwhere she was before she left and I thought I would win her again intime. I was so sure of it that it never troubled me. You have seen howit was. And you have seen how she was always wanting the life that shehad learned to want while she was away--the life that you came from, Patches. I have been mighty glad for your friendship with her, too, because I thought she would learn from you that a man could have allthat is worth having in _that_ life, and still be happy and contented_here_. And she would have learned, I am sure. She couldn't help seeingit. But now that damned fool who knows no more of real manhood than Ido of his profession has spoiled it all. "

"But Phil, I don't understand. What has Parkhill to do with Reid'sselling out?"

"Why, don't you see?" Phil returned savagely. "He's the supremerepresentative of the highest highbrowed culture, isn't he? He's a lordhigh admiral, duke, or potentate of some sort, in the world of loftiestthought, isn't he? He lives, moves and has his being in the lofty realmsof the purely spiritual, doesn't he? He's cultured, and cultivated, andspiritualized, until he vibrates nothing but pure soul--whatever thatmeans--and he's refined himself, and mental-disciplined himself, andsoul-dominated himself, until there's not an ounce of red blood left inhis carcass. Get him between you and the sun, after what he calls adinner, and you can see every material mouthful that he, has disgracedhimself by swallowing. He's not human, I tell you; he's only a kind of ahe-ghost, and ought to be fed on sterilized moonbeams and pasteurizedstarlight. "

"Amen!" said Patches solemnly, when Phil paused for lack of breath. "But, Phil, your eloquent characterization does not explain what thehe-ghost has to do with the sale of the Pot-Hook-S outfit. "

Phil's voice again dropped into its hopeless key as he answered. "Youremember how, from the very first, Kitty--well--sort of worshiped him, don't you?"

"You mean how she worshiped his aesthetic cult, don't you?" correctedPatches quietly. 

"I suppose that's it, " responded Phil gloomily. "Well, Uncle Will saysthat they have been together mighty near every day for the past threemonths, and that about half of the time they have been over at Kitty'shome. He has discovered, he says, that Kitty possesses a rare andwonderful capacity for absorbing the higher truths of the more purelyintellectual and spiritual planes of life, and that she has amarvelously developed appreciation of those ideals of life which are sofar removed from the base and material interests and passions whichbelong to the mere animal existence of the common herd. "

"Oh, hell!" groaned Patches. 

"Well, that's what he told Uncle Will, " returned Phil stoutly. "And hehas harped on that string so long, and yammered so much to Jim and toKitty's mother about the girl's wonderful intellectuality, and what arecord-breaking career she would have if only she had the opportunity, and what a shame, and a loss to the world it is for her to remain buriedin these soul-dwarfing surroundings, that they have got to believing itthemselves. You see, Kitty herself has in a way been getting them usedto the idea that Williamson Valley isn't much of a place, and that thecow business doesn't rank very high among the best people. So Jim isgoing to sell out, and move away somewhere, where Kitty can have hercareer, and the boys can grow up to be something better than low-downcow-punchers like you and me. Jim is able to retire anyway. "

"Thanks, Phil, " said Patches quietly. 

"What for?"

"Why, for including me in your class. I consider it a compliment, and"--he added, with a touch of his old self-mocking humor--"I think Iknow what I am saying--better, perhaps, than the he-ghost knows what hetalks about. "

"It may be that you do, " returned Phil wearily, "but you can see whereit all puts me. The professor has sure got me down and hog-tied so tightthat I can't even think. "

"Perhaps, and again, perhaps not, " returned Patches. "Reid hasn't founda buyer for the outfit yet, has he?"

"Not yet, but they'll come along fast enough. The Pot-Hook-S Ranch istoo well known for the sale to hang fire long. "

The next day Phil seemed to slip back again, in his attitude towardPatches, to the temper of those last weeks of the rodeo. It was asthough the young man--with his return to the home ranch and to the Deanand their talks and plans for the work--again put himself, his personalconvictions and his peculiar regard for Patches, aside, and became theunprejudiced foreman, careful for his employer's interests. 

Patches very quickly, but without offense, found that the door, whichhis friend had opened in the long dark hours of that lonely night ride, had closed again; and, thinking that he understood, he made no attemptto force his way. But, for some reason, Patches appeared to be in anunusually happy frame of mind, and went singing and whistling about thecorrals and buildings as though exceedingly well pleased with himselfand with the world. 

The following day was Sunday. In the afternoon, Patches was roamingabout the premises, keeping at a safe distance from the walnut trees infront of the house, where the professor had cornered the Dean, thuspunishing both Patches and his employer by preventing one of their longSunday talks which they both so much enjoyed. Phil had gone offsomewhere to be alone, and Mrs. Baldwin was reading aloud to LittleBilly. Honorable Patches was left very much to himself. 

From the top of the little hill near the corrals, he looked across themeadow at exactly the right moment to see someone riding away from theneighboring ranch. He watched until he was certain that whoever it waswas not coming to the Cross-Triangle--at least, not by way of the meadowlane. Then, smiling to himself, he went to the big barn and saddled ahorse--there are always two or three that are not turned out in thepasture--and in a few minutes was riding leisurely away on the Simmonsroad, along the western edge of the valley. An hour later he met KittyReid, who was on her way from Simmons to the Cross-Triangle. 

The young woman was sincerely glad to meet him. 

"But you were going to Simmons, were you not?" she asked, as he reinedhis horse about to ride with her. 

"To be truthful, I was going to Simmons if I met anyone else, or if Ihad not met you, " he answered. Then, at her puzzled look, he explained, "I saw someone leave your house, and guessed that it was you. I guessed, too, that you would be coming this way. "

"And you actually rode out to meet me?"

"Actually, " he smiled. 

They chatted about the rodeo, and the news of the countryside--for ithad been several weeks since they had met--and so reached the point ofthe last ridge before you come to the ranch. Then Patches asked, "May weride over there on the ridge, and sit for a while in the shade of thatold cedar, for a little talk? It's early yet, and it's been ages sincewe had a pow-wow. "

Reaching the point which Patches had chosen, they left their horses andmade themselves comfortable on the brow of the hill, overlooking thewide valley meadow and the ranches. 

"And now, " said Kitty, looking at him curiously, "what's the talk, Mr. Honorable Patches?"

"Just you, " said Patches, gravely. 

"Me?"

"Your own charming self, " he returned. 

"But, please, good sir, what have I done?" she asked. "Or, perhaps, it'swhat have I not done?"

"Or perhaps, " he retorted, "it's what you are going to do. "

"Oh!"

"Miss Reid, I am going to ask you a favor--a great favor. "

"Yes?"

"You have known me now almost a year. "

"Yes. "

"And, yet, to be exact, you do not know me at all. "

She did not answer, but looked at him steadily. 

"And that, in a way, " he continued, "makes it easy for me to ask thefavor; that is, if you feel that you can trust me ever so little--trustme, I mean, to the extent of believing me sincere. "

"I know that you are sincere, Patches, " she answered, gravely. 

"Thank you, " he returned. Then he said gently, "I want you to let metalk to you about what is most emphatically none of my business. I wantyou to let me ask you impertinent questions. I want you to talk to meabout"--he hesitated; then finished with meaning--"about your career. "

She felt his earnestness, and was big enough to understand, and begrateful for the spirit that prompted his words. 

"Why, Patches, " she cried, "after all that your friendship has meant tome, these past months, I could not think any question that you would askimpertinent Surely you know that, don't you?"

"I hoped that you would feel that way. And I know that I would give fiveyears of my life if I knew how to convince you of the truth which I havelearned from my own bitter experience, and save you from--fromyourself. "

She could not mistake his earnestness and in spite of herself the man'sintense feeling moved her deeply. 

"Save me from myself?" she questioned. "What in the world do you mean, Patches?"

"Is it true, " he asked, "that your father is offering the ranch forsale, and that you are going out of the Williamson Valley life?"

"Yes, but it is not such a sudden move as it seems. We have often talkedabout it at home--father and mother and I. "

"But the move is to be made chiefly on your account, is it not?"

She flushed a little at this, but answered stoutly. "Yes. I suppose thatis true. You see, being the only one in our family to have theadvantages of--well--the advantages that I have had, it was natural thatI should--Surely you have seen, Patches, how discontented anddissatisfied I have been with the life here! Why, until you came therewas no one to whom I could talk, even--no one, I mean, who couldunderstand. "

"But what is it that you want, or expect to find, that you may not haveright here?"

Then she told him all that he had expected to hear. Told him earnestly, passionately, of the life she craved, and of the sordid, commonplacenarrowness and emptiness--as she saw it--of the life from which shesought to escape. And as she talked the man's good heart was heavy withsadness and pity for her. 

"Oh, girl, girl, " he cried, when she had finished. "Can't you--won'tyou--understand? All that you seek is right here--everywhere aboutyou--waiting for you to make it your own, and with it you may have herethose greater things without which no life can be abundant and joyous. The culture and the intellectual life that is dependent upon mereenvironment is a crippled culture and a sickly life. The mind thatcannot find its food for thought wherever it may be planed will neverhobble very far on crutches of superficial cults and societies. You areleaving the substance, child, for the shadow. You are seeking the fadsand fancies of shallow idlers, and turning your back upon eternal facts. You are following after silly fools who are chasing bubbles over theedge of God's good world. Believe me, girl, I know--God! but I do knowwhat that life, stripped of its tinseled and spangled show, means. Takethe good grain, child, and let the husks go. "

As the man spoke, Kitty watched him as though she were intentlyinterested; but, in truth, her thoughts were more on the speaker than onwhat he said. 

"You are in earnest, aren't you, Patches?" she murmured softly. 

"I am, " he returned sharply, for he saw that she was not evenconsidering what he had said. "I know how mistaken you are; I know whatit will mean to you when you find how much you have lost and how littleyou have gained. "

"And how am I mistaken? Do I not know what I want? Am I not better ablethan anyone else to say what satisfies me and what does not?"

"No, " he retorted, almost harshly, "you are not. You _think_ it is theculture, as you call it, that you want; but if that were really it, youwould not go. You would find it here. The greatest minds that the worldhas ever known you may have right here in your home, on your librarytable. And you may listen to their thoughts without being disturbed bythe magpie chatterings of vain and shallow pretenders. You are attractedby the pretentious forms and manners of that life; you think thatbecause a certain class of people, who have nothing else to do, talk acertain jargon, and profess to follow certain teachers--who, nine timesout of ten, are charlatans or fools--that they are the intellectual andspiritual leaders of the race. You are mistaking the very things thatprevent intellectual and spiritual development for the things you thinkyou want. "

She did not answer his thought, but replied to his words. "And supposingI am mistaken, as you say. Still, I do not see why it should matter soto you. "

He made a gesture of hopelessness and sat for a moment in silence. Thenhe said slowly, "I fear you will not understand, but did you ever hearthe story of how 'Wild Horse Phil' earned his title?"

She laughed. "Why, of course. Everybody knows about that. Dear, foolishold Phil--I shall miss him dreadfully. " "Yes, " he said significantly, "you will miss him. The life you are going to does not produce PhilActons. "

"It produced an Honorable Patches, " she retorted slyly. 

"Indeed it did _not_, " he answered quickly. "It produced--" He checkedhimself, as though fearing that he would say too much. 

"But what have Phil and his wild horse to do with the question?" sheasked. 

"Nothing, I fear. Only I feel about your going away as Phil felt when hegave the wild horse its freedom. "

"I don't think I understand, " she said, genuinely puzzled. 

"I said you would not, " he retorted bluntly, "and that's why you areleaving all this. " His gesture indicated the vast sweep of country withold Granite Mountain in the distance. 

Then, with a nod and a look he indicated Professor Parkhill, who waswalking toward them along the side of the ridge skirting the scatteredcedar timber. "Here comes a product of the sort of culture to which youaspire. Behold the ideal manhood of your higher life! When theintellectual and spiritual life you so desire succeeds in producingracial fruit of that superior quality, it will have justified itsexistence--and will perish from the earth. "

Even as Patches spoke, he saw something just beyond the approaching manthat made him start as if to rise to his feet. 

It was the unmistakable face of Yavapai Joe, who, from behind an oakbush, was watching the professor. 

Patches, glancing at Kitty, saw that she had not noticed. 

Before the young woman could reply to her companion's derisive remarks, the object which had prompted his comments arrived within speakingdistance. 

"I trust I am not intruding, " began the professor, in his small, thinvoice. Then as Patches, his eyes still on that oak bush, stood up, thelittle man added, with hasty condescension, "Keep your seat, my man;keep your seat. I assure you it is not my purpose to deprive you of MissReid's company. "

Patches grinned. By that "my man" he knew that Kitty had not enlightenedher teacher as to the "typical cowboy's" real character. 

"That's all right, perfessor, " he said awkwardly. "I just seen amaverick over yonder a-piece. I reckon I'd better mosey along an' have acloser look at him. Me an' Kitty here warn't talkin' nothin' important, nohow. Just a gassin' like. I reckon she'd ruther go on home with you, anyhow, an' it's all right with me. "

"Maverick!" questioned the professor. "And what, may I ask, is amaverick?"

"Hit's a critter what don't belong to nobody, " answered Patches, movingtoward his horse. 

At the same moment Kitty, who had risen, and was looking in thedirection from which the professor had come, exclaimed, "Why, there'sYavapai Joe, Patches. What is he doing here?"

She pointed, and the professor, looking, caught a glimpse of Joe's backas the fellow was slinking over the ridge. 

"I reckon mebby he wants to see me 'bout somethin' or other, " Patchesreturned, as he mounted his horse. "Anyway, I'm a-goin' over that-a-wayan' see. So long!"

Patches rode up to Joe just as the Tailholt Mountain man regained hishorse on the other side of the ridge. 

"Hello, Joe!" said the Cross-Triangle rider, easily. 

The wretched outcast was so shaken and confused that he could scarcelyfind the stirrup with his foot, and his face was pale and twitching withexcitement. He looked at Patches, wildly, but spoke in a sullen tone. "What's he doin' here? What does he want? How did he get to thiscountry, anyhow?"

Patches was amazed, but spoke calmly. "Whom do you mean, Joe?"

"I mean that man back there, Parkhill--Professor Parkhill. What's hea-lookin' for hangin' 'round here? You can tell him it ain't nouse--I--" He stopped suddenly, and with a characteristic look ofcunning, turned away. 

Patches rode beside him for some distance, but nothing that he could saywould persuade the wretched creature to explain. 

"Yes, I know you're my friend, all right, Patches, " he answered. "Yousure been mighty friendly ter me, an' I ain't fergettin' it. But I ain'ta-tellin' nothin' to nobody, an' it ain't a-goin' to do you no good togo askin' him 'bout me, neither. "

"I'm not going to ask Professor Parkhill anything, Joe, " said Patchesshortly. 

"You ain't?"

"Certainly not; if you don't want me to know. I'm not trying to find outabout anything that's none of my business. "

Joe looked at him with a cunning leer. "Oh, you ain't, ain't you? Nick'lows that you're sure--" Again he caught himself. "But I ain'ta-tellin' nothin' to nobody. "

"Well, have _I_ ever asked you to tell me anything?" demanded Patches. 

"No, you ain't--that's right--you sure been square with me, Patches, an' I ain't fergettin' it. Be you sure 'nuf my friend, Patches?Honest-to-God, now, be you?"

His question was pitiful, and Patches assured the poor fellow that hehad no wish to be anything but his friend, if only Yavapai Joe wouldaccept his help. 

"Then, " said Joe pleadingly, "if you mean all that you been sayin' aboutwantin' to help me, you'll do somethin' fer me right now. "

"What can I do, Joe?"

"You kin promise me that you won't say nothin' to nobody 'bout me an'him back there. "

Patches, to demonstrate his friendliness, answered without thought, "Certainly, I'll promise that, Joe. "

"You won't tell nobody?"

"No, I won't say a word. "

The poor fellow's face revealed his gratitude. "I'm obliged to you, Patches, I sure am, an' I ain't fergettin' nothin', either. You're myfriend, all right, an' I'm your'n. I got to be a-hittin' it up now. Nick'll jest nachally gimme hell for bein' gone so long. "

"Good-by, Joe!"

"So long, Patches! An' don't you get to thinkin' that I'm fergettin' howme an' you is friends. "

When Patches reviewed the incident, as he rode back to the ranch, hequestioned if he had done right in promising Joe. But, after all, hereassured himself, he was under no obligation to interfere with what wasclearly none of his business. He could not see that the matter in anypossible way touched his employer's interests. And, he reflected, hehad already tried the useless experiment of meddling with other people'saffairs, and he did not care to repeat the experience. 

That evening Patches asked Phil's permission to go to Prescott the nextday. It would be the first time that he had been to town since hiscoming to the ranch and the foreman readily granted his request. 

A few minutes later as Phil passed through the kitchen, Mrs. Baldwinremarked, "I wonder what Patches is feeling so gay about. Ever since hegot home from the rodeo he's been singin' an' whistlin' an' grinnin' tohimself all the time. He went out to the corral just now as merry as alark. "

Phil laughed. "Anybody would be glad to get through with that rodeo, mother; besides, he is going to town to-morrow. "

"He is? Well, you mark my words, son, there's somethin' up to make himfeel as good as he does. "

And then, when Phil had gone on out into the yard, Professor Parkhillfound him. 

"Mr. Acton, " began the guest timidly, "there is a little matter aboutwhich I feel I should speak to you. "

"Very well, sir, " returned the cowboy. 

"I feel that it would be better for me to speak to you rather than toMr. Baldwin, because, well, you are younger, and will, I am sure, understand more readily. "

"All right; what is it, Professor?" asked Phil encouragingly, wonderingat the man's manner. 

"Do you mind--ah--walking a little way down the road?"

As they strolled out toward the gate to the meadow road, the professorcontinued:

"I think I should tell you about your man Patches. "

Phil looked at his companion sharply. "Well, what about him?"

"I trust you will not misunderstand my interest, Mr. Acton, when I saythat it also includes Miss Reid. "

Phil stopped short. Instantly Mrs. Baldwin's remark about Patches'happiness, his own confession that he had given up all hope of winningKitty, and the thought of the friendship which he had seen developingduring the past months, with the realization that Patches belonged tothat world to which Kitty aspired--all swept through his mind. He waslooking at the man beside him so intently that the professor said againuneasily:

"I trust, Mr. Acton, that you will understand. "

Phil laughed shortly. "I think I do. But just the same you'd betterexplain. What about Patches and Miss Reid, sir?"

The professor told how he had found them together that afternoon. 

"Oh, is that all?" laughed Phil. 

"But surely, Mr. Acton, you do not think that a man of that fellow'sevident brutal instincts is a fit associate for a young woman of MissReid's character and refinement. "

"Perhaps not, " admitted Phil, still laughing, "but I guess Kitty cantake care of herself. "

"I do not agree with you, sir, " said the other authoritatively. "A youngwoman of Miss Reid's--ah--spirituality and worldly inexperience mustalways be, to a certain extent, injured by contact with such illiterate, unrefined, and, I have no doubt, morally deficient characters. "

"But, look here, Professor, " returned Phil, still grinning, "what do youexpect me to do about it? I am not Kitty Reid's guardian. Why don't youtalk to her yourself?"

"Really, " returned the little man, "I--there are reasons why I do notsee my way clear to such a course. I had hoped that you might keep aneye on the fellow, and, if necessary, use your authority over him toprevent any such incidents in the future. "

"I'll see what I can do, " answered Phil, thinking how the Dean wouldenjoy the joke. "But, look here; Kitty was with you when you got to theranch. What became of Patches? Run, did he, when you appeared on thescene?"

"Oh, no; he went away with a--with a maverick. "

"Went away with a maverick? What, in heaven's name, do you mean bythat?"

"That's what your man Patches said the fellow was. Miss Reid told me hisname was Joe--Joe something. "

Phil was not laughing now. The fun of the situation had vanished. 

"Was it Yavapai Joe?" he demanded. 

"Yes, that was it. I am quite sure that was the name. He belongs atTailend Mountain, I think Miss Reid said; you have such curious names inthis country. "

"And Patches went away with him, you say?"

"Yes, the fellow seemed to have been hiding in the bushes when wediscovered him, and when Miss Reid asked what he was doing there yourman said that he had come to see him about something. They went awaytogether, I believe. "

As soon as he could escape from the professor, Phil went straight toPatches, who was in his room, reading. The man looked up with awelcoming smile as Phil entered, but as he saw the foreman's face hissmile vanished quickly, and he laid aside his book. 

"Patches, " said Phil abruptly, "what's this talk of the professor'sabout you and Yavapai Joe?"

"I don't know what the professor is talking, " Patches replied coldly, asthough he did not exactly like the tone of Phil's question. 

"He says that Joe was sneaking about in the brush over on the ridgewanting to see you about something, " returned Phil. 

"Joe was certainly over there on the ridge, and he may have wanted tosee me; at any rate, I saw him. "

"Well, I've got to ask you what sort of business you have with thatTailholt Mountain thief that makes it necessary for him to sneak aroundin the brush for a meeting with you. If he wants to see you, why doesn'the come to the ranch, like a man?"

Honorable Patches looked the Dean's foreman straight in the eyes, as heanswered in a tone that he had never used before in speaking to Phil:"And I have to answer, sir, that my business with Yavapai Joe isentirely personal; that it has no relation whatever to your business asthe foreman of this ranch. As to why Joe didn't come to the house, youmust ask him; I don't know. "

"You refuse to explain?" demanded Phil. 

"I certainly refuse to discuss Joe Dryden's private affairs--that, sofar as I can see, are of no importance to anyone but himself--with youor anyone else. Just as I should refuse to discuss any of your privateaffairs, with which I happened, by some chance, to be, in a way, familiar. I have made all the explanation necessary when I say that mybusiness with him has nothing to do with your business. You have noright to ask me anything further. "

"I have the right to fire you, " retorted Phil, angrily. 

Patches smiled, as he answered gently, "You have the right, Phil, butyou won't use it. "

"And why not?"

"Because you are not that kind of a man, Phil Acton, " answered Patchesslowly. "You know perfectly well that if you discharged me because of myfriendship with poor Yavapai Joe, no ranch in this part of the countrywould give me a job. You are too honest yourself to condemn any man onmere suspicion, and you are too much of a gentleman to damn anothersimply because he, too, aspires to that distinction. "

"Very well, Patches, " Phil returned, with less heat, "but I want you tounderstand one thing; I am responsible for the Cross-Triangle propertyand there is no friendship in the world strong enough to influence me inthe slightest degree when it comes to a question of Uncle Will'sinterests. Do you get that?"

"I got that months ago, Phil. "

Without another word, the Dean's foreman left the room. 

Patches sat for some time considering the situation. And now and thenhis lips curled in that old, self-mocking smile; realizing that he wascaught in the trap of circumstance, he found a curious humor in hispredicament. 

CHAPTER XII. 

FRONTIER DAY. 

Again it was July. And, with the time of the cattlemen's celebration ofthe Fourth at hand, riders from every part of the great western cowcountry assembled in Prescott for their annual contests. From Texas andMontana, from Oklahoma and New Mexico and Wyoming, the cowboys came withtheir saddles and riatas to meet each other and the men of Arizona infriendly trials of strength and skill. From many a wild pasture, outlawhorses famous for their vicious, unsubdued spirits, and their fierce, untamed strength, were brought to match their wicked, unbroken willsagainst the cool, determined courage of the riders. From the wideranges, the steers that were to participate in the roping andbull-dogging contests were gathered and driven in. From many a ranch thefastest and best of the trained cow-horses were sent for the variouscowboy races. And the little city, in its rocky, mile-high basin, uponwhich the higher surrounding mountains look so steadfastly down, againdecked itself in gala colors, and opened wide its doors to welcome allwho chose to come. 

From the Cross-Triangle and the neighboring ranches the cowboys, dressedin the best of their picturesque regalia, rode into the town, to witnessand take part in the sports. With them rode Honorable Patches. 

And this was not the carefully groomed and immaculately attiredgentleman who, in troubled spirit, had walked alone over that long, unfenced way a year before. This was not the timid, hesitating, shamefaced man at whom Phil Acton had laughed on the summit of theDivide. This was a man among men--a cowboy of the cowboys--bronzed, andlean, and rugged; vitally alive in every inch of his long body; withself-reliant courage and daring hardihood written all over him, expressed in every tone of his voice, and ringing in every note of hislaughter. 

The Dean and Mrs. Baldwin and Little Billy drove in the buckboard, butthe distinguished guest of the Cross-Triangle went with the Reid familyin the automobile. The professor was not at all interested in thecelebration, but he could not well remain at the ranch alone, and, itmay be supposed, the invitation from Kitty helped to make the occasionendurable. 

The celebration this year--the posters and circulars declared--was to bethe biggest and best that Prescott had ever offered. In proof of thebold assertion, the program promised, in addition to the usual events, an automobile race. Shades of all those mighty heroes of the saddle, whose names may not be erased from the history of the great West, thinkof it! An automobile race offered as the chief event in a Frontier DayCelebration!

No wonder that Mrs. Manning said to her husband that day, "But Stan, where are the cowboys?"

Stanford Manning answered laughingly, "Oh, they are here, all right, Helen; just wait a little and you will see. "

Mr. And Mrs. Manning had arrived from Cleveland, Ohio, the eveningbefore, and Helen was eager and excited with the prospect of meeting thepeople, and witnessing the scenes of which her husband had told her withso much enthusiasm. 

As the Dean had told Patches that day when the cattleman had advancedthe money for the stranger's outfit, the young mining engineer had won aplace for himself amid the scenes and among the people of that westerncountry. He had first come to the land of this story, fresh from histechnical training in the East. His employers, quick to recognize notonly his ability in his profession but his character and manhood, aswell, had advanced him rapidly and, less than a month before Patchesasked for work at the Cross-Triangle, had sent him on an importantmission to their mines in the North. They were sending him, now, againto Arizona, this time as the resident manager of their properties in thePrescott district. This new advance in his profession, together with thesubstantial increase in salary which it brought, meant much to theengineer. Most of all, it meant his marriage to Helen Wakefield. Astop-over of two weeks at Cleveland, on way West, from the main officesof his Company in New York, had changed his return to Prescott from asimple business trip to a wedding journey. 

At the home of the Yavapai Club, on top of the hill, a clock above theplaza, a number of Prescott's citizens, with their guests, had gatheredto watch the beginning of the automobile race. The course, from thecorner in front of the St. Michael hotel, followed the street along oneside of the plaza, climbed straight up the hill, passed the clubhouse, and so away into the open country. From the clubhouse veranda, from thelawn and walks in front, or from their seats in convenient automobilesstanding near, the company enjoyed, thus, an unobstructed view of thestarting point of the race, and could look down as well upon the crowdsthat pressed against the ropes which were stretched along either side ofthe street. Prom a friendly automobile, Helen Manning, with herhusband's field glasses, was an eager and excited observer of theinteresting scene, while Stanford near by was busy greeting old friends, presenting them to his wife and receiving their congratulations. Andoften, he turned with a fond look and a merry word to the young woman, as though reassuring himself that she was really there. There was nodoubt about it, Stamford Manning, strong and steady and forceful, wasvery much in love with this girl who looked down into his face with suchan air of sweet confidence and companionship. And Helen, as she turnedfrom the scene that so interested her, to greet her husband's friends, to ask him some question, or to answer some laughing remark, could nothide the love light in her soft brown eyes. One could not fail to seethat her woman heart was glad--glad and proud that this stalwart, broad-shouldered leader of men had chosen her for his mate. 

"But, Stan, " she said, with a pretty air of disappointment, "I thoughtit was all going to be so different. Why, except for the mountains, andthose poor Indians over there, this might all be in some little townback home. I thought there would be cowboys riding about everywhere, with long hair and big hats, and guns and things. "

Stanford and his friends who were standing near laughed. 

"I fear, Mrs. Manning, " remarked Mr. Richards, one of Prescott's bankpresidents, "that Stanford has been telling you wild west stories. TheWest moves as well as the East, you know. We are becoming civilized. "

"Indeed you are, Mr. Richards, " Helen returned. "And I don't think Ilike it a bit. It's not fair to your poor eastern sight-seers, likemyself. "

"If you are really so anxious to see a sure enough cowboy, look overthere, " said Stanford, and pointed across the street. 

"Where?" demanded Helen eagerly. 

"There, " smiled Stanford, "the dark-faced chap near that automobilestanding by the curb; the machine with the pretty girl at the wheel. See! he is stopping to talk with the girl. "

"What! That nice looking man, dressed just like thousands of men that wemight see any day on the streets of Cleveland?" cried Helen. 

"Exactly, " chuckled her husband, while the others laughed at herincredulous surprise. "But, just the same, that's Phil Acton; 'WildHorse Phil, ' if you please. He is the cowboy foreman of theCross-Triangle Ranch, and won the championship in the bronco riding lastyear. "

"I don't believe it--you are making fun of me, Stanford Manning. "

Then, before he could answer, she cried, with quick excitement, "But, Stan, look! Look at the girl in the automobile! She looks like--it is, Stan, it is!" And to the amazement of her husband and her friends Mrs. Manning sprang to her feet and, waving her handkerchief, called, "Kitty!Oh, Kitty--Kitty Reid!"

As her clear call rang out, many people turned to look, and then tosmile at the picture, as she stood there in the bright Arizona day, soanimated and wholesomely alive in the grace and charm of her beautifulyoung womanhood, above the little group of men who were looking up ather with laughing admiration. 

On the other side of the street, where she sat with her parents andProfessor Parkhill, talking to Phil, Kitty heard the call, and looked. Amoment later she was across the street, and the two young women weregreeting each other with old-time schoolgirl enthusiasm. Introductionsand explanations followed, with frequent feminine exclamations ofsurprise and delight. Then the men drew a little away, talking, laughing, as men will on such occasions, leaving the two women tothemselves. 

In that eastern school, which, for those three years, had been Kitty'shome, Helen Wakefield and the girl from Arizona had been close andintimate friends. Indeed, Helen, with her strong womanly character andthat rare gift of helpful sympathy and understanding, had been to thegirl fresh from the cattle ranges more than a friend; she had beencounsellor and companion, and, in many ways, a wise guardian andteacher. 

"But why in the world didn't you write me about it?" demanded Kitty alittle later. "Why didn't you tell me that you had become Mrs. StanfordManning, and that you were coming to Prescott?"

Helen laughed and blushed happily. "Why, you see, Kitty, it all happenedso quickly that there was no time to write. You remember when I wroteyou about Stan, I told you how poor he was, and how we didn't expect tobe married for several years?"

"Yes. "

"Well, then, you see, Stan's company, all unexpectedly to him, calledhim to New York and gave him this position out here. He had to start atonce, and wired me from New York. Just think, I had only a week for thewedding and everything! I knew, of course, that I could find you after Igot here. "

"And now that you are here, " said Kitty decisively, "you and Mr. Manningare coming right out to Williamson Valley to spend your honeymoon on theranch. "

But Helen shook her head. "Stan has it all planned, Kitty, and he won'tlisten to anything else. There is a place around here somewhere that hecalls Granite Basin, and he has it all arranged that we are to camp outthere for three weeks. His company has given him that much time, and weare going just as soon as this celebration is over. After that, whileStan gets started with his work, and fixes some place for us to live, Iwill make you a little visit. "

"I suppose there is no use trying to contend against the rights of abrand-new husband, " returned Kitty, "but it's a promise, that you willcome to me as soon as your camping trip is over?"

"It's a promise, " agreed Helen. "You see, that's really part ofStanford's plan; I was so sure you would want me, you know. "

"Want you? I should say I do want you, " cried Kitty, "and I need you, too. "

Something in her voice made Helen look at her questioningly, but Kittyonly smiled. 

"I'll tell you all about it when there is more time. "

"Let me see, " said Helen. "There used to be--why, of course, that nicelooking man you were talking to when I recognized you--Phil Acton. " Shelooked across the street as she spoke, but Phil had gone. 

"Please don't, Helen dear, " said Kitty, "that was only my schoolgirlnonsense. When I came back home I found how impossible it all was. But Imust run back to the folks now. Won't you come and meet them?"

Before Helen could answer someone shouted, "They're getting ready forthe start, " and everybody looked down the hill toward the place wherethe racing machines were sputtering and roaring in their clouds of bluesmoke. 

Helen caught up the field glasses to look, saying, "We can't go now, Kitty. You stay here with us until after the race is started; then we'llgo. "

As Helen lowered the glasses Stanford, who had come to stand beside theautomobile, reached out his hand. "Let me have a look, Helen. They saymy old friend, Judge Morris, is the official starter. " He put the fieldglasses to his eyes. "There he is all right, as big as life; finest manthat ever lived. Look, Helen. " He returned the glasses to his wife "Ifyou want to see a genuine western lawyer, a scholar and a gentleman, take a look at that six-foot-three or four down there in the grayclothes. "

"I see him, " said Helen, "but there seems to be some thing the matter;there he goes back to the machines. Now he's laying down the law to thedrivers. "

"They won't put over anything on Morris, " said Stanford admiringly. 

Then a deep, kindly voice at his elbow said, "Howdy, Manning! Ain't yougot time to speak to your old friends?"

Stanford whirled and, with a glad exclamation, grasped the Dean'soutstretched hand. Still holding fast to the cattleman, he again turnedto his wife, who was looking down at them with smiling interest. "Helen, this is Mr. Baldwin--the Dean, you know. "

"Indeed, I ought to know the Dean, " she cried, giving him her hand. "Stanford has told me so much about you that I am in love with youalready. "

"And I"--retorted the Dean, looking up at her with his blue eyestwinkling approval--"I reckon I've always been in love with you. I'msure glad to see that this young man has justified his reputation forgood judgment. Have they got any more girls like you back East? 'Causeif they have, I'll sure be obliged to take a trip to that part of theworld before I get too old. "

"You are just as Stan said you were, " retorted Helen. 

"Uncle Will!" cried Kitty. "I am ashamed of you! I didn't think youwould turn down your own home folks like that!"

The Dean lifted his hat and rumpled his grizzly hair as though fairlycaught. Then: "Why, Kitty, you know that I couldn't love any girl morethan I do you. Why, you belong to me most as much as you belong to yourown father and mother. But, you see--honey--well, you see, we've justnaturally got to be nice to strangers, you know. " When they had laughedat this, Kitty explained to that Dean how Mrs. Manning was the HelenWakefield with whom she had been such friends at school, and that, afterthe Mannings' outing in Granite Basin, Helen was to visit WilliamsonValley. 

"Campin' out in Granite Basin, heh?" said the Dean to Stanford. "Ireckon you'll be seein' some o' my boys. They're goin' up into thatcountry after outlaw steers next week. "

"I hope so, " returned Stanford. "Helen has been complaining that thereare no cowboys to be seen. I pointed out Phil Acton, but he didn't seemto fill the bill; she doesn't believe that he is a cowboy at all. "

The Dean chuckled. "He's never been anything else. They don't make 'emany better anywhere. " Then he added soberly, "Phil's not ridin' in thecontest this year, though. "

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. He's got some sort of a fool notion in his head that hedon't want to make an exhibition of himself--that's what he said. I'vegot another man on the ranch now, " he added, as though to change thesubject, "that'll be mighty near as good as Phil in another year. Hisname is Patches. He's a good one, all right. "

Kitty, who, had been looking away down the street while the Dean wastalking, put her hand on Helen's arm. "Look down there, Helen. I believethat is Patches now--that man sitting on his horse at the cross street, at the foot of the hill, just outside the ropes. "

Helen was looking through the field glasses. "I see him, " she cried. "Now, that's more like it. He looks like what I expected to see. What afine, big chap he is, isn't he?" Then, as she studied the distanthorseman, a puzzled expression came over her face. "Why, Kitty!" shesaid in a low tone, so that the men who were talking did not hear. "Doyou know, that man somehow reminds me"--she hesitated and lowered theglasses to look at her companion with half-amused, half-embarrassedeyes--"he reminds me of Lawrence Knight. "

Kitty's brown, fun-loving eyes glowed with mischief. "Really, Mrs. Manning, I am ashamed of you. Before the honeymoon has waned, yourthoughts, with no better excuse than the appearance of a poorcow-puncher, go back to the captivating charms of your old millionairelover. I--"

"Kitty! Do hush, " pleaded Helen. 

She lifted her glasses for another look at the cowboy. 

"I don't wonder that your conscience reproves you, " teased Kitty, in alow tone. "But tell me, poor child, how did it happen that you lost yourmillionaire?"

"I didn't lose him, " retorted Helen, still watching Patches. "He lostme. "

Kitty persisted with a playful mockery. "What! the great, the wonderfulKnight of so many millions, failed, with all his glittering charms, tocaptivate the fair but simple Helen! Really, I can't believe it. "

"Look at that man right there, " flashed Helen proudly, indicating herhusband, "and you can believe it. "

Kitty laughed so gaily that Stanford turned to look at them with smilinginquiry. 

"Never mind, Mr. Manning, " said Kitty, "we are just reminiscing, that'sall. "

"Don't miss the race, " he answered; "they're getting ready again tostart. It looks like a go this time. "

"And to think, " murmured Kitty, "that I never so much as saw yourKnight's picture! But you used to like Lawrence Knight, didn't you, Helen?" she added, as Helen lifted her field glasses again. And now, Mrs. Manning caught a note of earnest inquiry in her companion's voice. It was as though the girl were seeking confirmation of some purpose ordecision of her own. 

"Why, yes, Kitty, I liked Larry Knight very much, " she answered frankly. "He was a fine fellow in many ways--a dear, good friend. Stanford and Iare both very fond of him; they were college mates, you know. But, mydear girl, no one could ever consider poor old Larry seriously--as aman, you know--he is so--so utterly and hopelessly worthless. "

"Worthless! With--how many millions is it?"

"Oh, Kitty, you know what I mean. But, really dear, we have talkedenough about Mr. Lawrence Knight. I'm going to have another look at thecowboy. _He_ looks like a real man, doesn't he? What is it the Deancalled him?"

"Patches. "

"Oh, yes; what a funny name--Patches. "

"Honorable Patches, " said Kitty. 

"How odd!" mused Helen. "Oh, Stan, come here a minute. Take the glassesand look at that cowboy down there. "

Stanford trained the field glasses as she directed. 

"Doesn't he remind you of Larry Knight?"

"Larry Knight!" Stanford looked at her in amazement. "That cow-puncher?Larry Knight? I should say _not_. Lord! but wouldn't fastidious, cultured and correct old Larry feel complimented to know that you foundanything in a common cow-puncher to remind you of him!"

"But, here, take your glasses, quick; they are going to start at last. "

Even as Helen looked, Judge Morris gave the signal and the first racingcar, with a mighty roar, leaped away from the starting point, andthundered up the street between the lines of the crowding, cheeringpeople. An instant more, and Helen Manning witnessed a scene thatthrilled the hearts of every man, woman and child in that great crowd. 

As the big racing car, gathering speed at every throb of its powerfulmotor, swept toward the hill, a small boy, but little more than atoddling baby, escaped from his mother, who, with the excited throng, was crowding against the rope barrier, and before those whose eyes werefixed on the automobile noticed, the child was in the street, fairly inthe path of the approaching machine. A sudden hush fell on the shoutingmultitude. Helen, through the field glasses, could see even the child'sface, as, laughing gleefully, he looked back when his mother screamed. Stricken with horror, the young woman could not lower her glasses. Fascinated, she watched. The people seemed, for an instant, paralyzed. Not a soul moved or uttered a sound. Would the driver of the racing carswerve aside from his course in time? If he did, would the baby, insudden fright, dodge in front of the machine? Then Helen saw the cowboywho had so interested her lean forward in his saddle and strike hisspurs deep in the flanks of his already restless horse. With atremendous bound the animal cleared the rope barrier, and in an instantwas leaping toward the child and the approaching car. The people gaspedat the daring of the man who had not waited to think. It was over in asecond. As Patches swept by the child, he leaned low from the saddle;and, as the next leap of his horse carried him barely clear of themachine, they saw his tall, lithe body straighten, as he swung the babyup into his arms. 

Then, indeed, the crowd went wild. Men yelled and cheered; women laughedand cried; and, as the cowboy returned the frightened baby to thedistressed mother, a hundred eager hands were stretched forth to greethim. But the excited horse backed away; someone raised the rope barrier, and Patches disappeared down the side street. 

Helen's eyes were wet, but she was smiling. "No, " she said softly toKitty and Stanford, "that was _not_ Lawrence Knight. Poor old Larrynever could have done that. "

It was a little after the noon hour when Kitty, who, with her father, mother and brothers, had been for dinner at the home of one of theirPrescott friends, was crossing the plaza on her way to join Mr. And Mrs. Manning, with whom she was to spend the afternoon. In a less frequentedcorner of the little park, back of the courthouse, she saw Patches. Thecowboy, who had changed from his ranch costume to a less picturesquebusiness garb, was seated alone on one of the benches that are placedalong the walks, reading a letter. With his attention fixed upon theletter, he did not notice Kitty as she approached. And the girl, whenshe first caught sight of him, paused for an instant; then she wenttoward him slowly, studying him with a new interest. 

She was quite near when, looking up, he saw her. Instantly he rose tohis feet, slipped the letter into his pocket, and stood before her, hatin hand, to greet her with genuine pleasure and with that gentlecourtesy which always marked his bearing. And Kitty, as she looked upat him, felt, more convincingly than ever, that this man would beperfectly at ease in the most exacting social company. 

"I fear I interrupted you, " said the young woman. "I was just passing. "

"Not at all, " he protested. "Surely you can give me a moment of yourbusy gala day. I know you have a host of friends, of course, but--well, I am lonely. Curly and Bob and the boys are all having the time of theirlives; the Dean and mother are lunching with friends; and I don't knowwhere Phil has hidden himself. "

It was like him to mention Phil in almost his first words to her. AndKitty, as Patches spoke Phil's name, instantly, as she had so often doneduring the past few months, mentally placed the two men side by side. 

"I just wanted to tell you"--she hesitated--"Mr. Patches--"

"I beg your pardon, " he interrupted smiling. 

"Well, Patches then; but you seem so different somehow, dressed likethis. I just wanted to tell you that I saw what happened this morning. It was splendid!"

"Why, Miss Reid, you know that was nothing. The driver of the car wouldprobably have dodged the youngster anyway. I acted on the impulse of themoment, without thinking. I'm always doing something unnecessarilyfoolish, you know. "

"The driver of the car would more likely have dodged into the child, "she returned warmly. "And it was fortunate that some one in all thatstupid crowd could act without taking time to think. Everybody says so. The dear old Dean is as pleased and proud as though you were one of hisown sons. "

"Really, you make too much of it, " he returned, clearly embarrassed byher praise. "Tell me, you are enjoying the celebration? And what's thematter with Phil? Can't you persuade him to ride in the contest? Wedon't want the championship to go out of Yavapai County, do we?"

Why must he always bring Phil into their talk? Kitty asked herself. 

"I am sure that Phil knows how all his friends feel about his riding, "she said coolly. "If he does not wish to gratify them, it is really asmall matter, is it not?"

Patches saw that he had made a mistake and changed easily to a safertopic. 

"You saw the beginning of the automobile race, of course? I suppose youwill be on hand this afternoon for the finish?"

"Oh, yes, I'm on my way now to join my friends, Mr. And Mrs. StanfordManning. We are going to see the finish of the race together. "

She watched his face closely, as she spoke of her friends, but he gaveno sign that he had ever heard the name before. 

"It will be worth seeing, I fancy, " he returned. "At least everybodyseems to feel that way. "

"I am sure to have a good time, anyway, " she returned, "because, yousee, Mrs. Manning is one of my very dearest girl friends, whom I havenot seen for a long time. "

"Indeed! You _will_ enjoy the afternoon, then. "

Was there a shade too much enthusiasm in the tone of his reply? Kittywondered. Could it be that his plea of loneliness was merely aconventional courtesy and that he was really relieved to find that shewas engaged for the afternoon?

"Yes, and I must hurry on to them, or they will think I am not coming, "she said. "Have a good time, Patches; you surely have earned it. Good-by!"

He stood for a moment watching her cross the park. Then, with a quicklook around, as though he did not wish to be observed, he hurried acrossthe street to the Western Union office. A few moments later he made hisway, by little-frequented side streets, to the stable where he had lefthis horse; and while Kitty and her friends were watching the first ofthe racing cars cross the line, Patches was several miles away, ridingas though pursued by the sheriff, straight for the Cross-Triangle Ranch. 

Several times that day, while she was with her eastern friends, Kittysaw Phil near by. But she gave him no signal to join them, and thecowboy, shy always, and hurt by Kitty's indifference, would not approachthe little party without her invitation. But that evening, while Kittywas waiting in the hotel lobby for Mr. And Mrs. Manning, Phil, findingher alone, went to her. 

"I have been trying to speak to you all day, " he said reproachfully. "Haven't you any time for me at all, Kitty?"

"Don't be foolish, Phil, " she returned; "you have seen me a dozentimes. "

"I have _seen_ you, yes, " he answered bitterly. 

"But, Phil, you could have come to me, if you had wanted to. "

"I have no desire to go where I am not wanted, " he answered. 

"Phil!"

"Well, you gave no sign that you wanted me. "

"There was no reason why I should, " she retorted. "You are not a child. I was with my friends from the East. You could have joined us if you hadcared to. I should be very glad, indeed, to present you to Mr. And Mrs. Manning. "

"Thank you, but I don't care to be exhibited as an interesting specimento people who have no use for me except when I do a few fool stunts toamuse them. "

"Very well, Phil, " she returned coldly. "If that is your feeling, I donot care to present you to my friends. They are every bit as sincere andgenuine as you are; and I certainly shall not trouble them with anyonewho cannot appreciate them. "

Kitty was angry, as she had good reason for being. But beneath her angershe was sorry for the man whose bitterness, she knew, was born of hislove for her. And Phil saw only that Kitty was lost to him--saw in thegirl's eastern friends those who, he felt, had robbed him of his dream. 

"I suppose, " he said, after a moment's painful silence, "that I hadbetter go back to the range where I belong. I'm out of place here. "

The girl was touched by the hopelessness in his voice, but she felt thatit would be no kindness to offer him the relief of an encouraging word. Her day with her eastern friends, and the memories that her meeting withMrs. Manning had aroused, convinced her more than ever that her old lovefor Phil, and the life of which he was a part, were for her impossible. 

When she did not speak, the cowboy said bitterly, "I noticed that yourfine friends did not take quite all your time. You found an opportunityfor a quiet little visit with Honorable Patches. "

Kitty was angry now in earnest. "You are forgetting yourself, Phil, " sheanswered with cold dignity. "And I think that as long as you feel as youdo toward my friends, and can speak to me like this about Mr. Patches, you are right in saying that you belong on the range. Mr. And Mrs. Manning are here, I see. I am going to dine with them. Good-by!" Sheturned away, leaving him standing there. 

A moment he waited, as though stunned; then he turned to make his wayblindly out of the hotel. 

It was nearly morning when Patches was awakened by the sound of someonemoving about the kitchen. A moment he listened, then, rising, wentquickly to the kitchen door, thinking to surprise some chance nightvisitor. 

When Phil saw him standing there the foreman for a moment said nothing, but, with the bread knife in one hand and one of Stella's good loaves inthe other, stared at him in blank surprise. Then the look of surprisechanged to an expression of questioning suspicion, and he demandedharshly, "What in hell are _you_ doing here?"

Patches saw that the man was laboring under some great trouble. Indeed, Phil's voice and manner were not unlike one under the influence ofstrong drink. But Patches knew that Phil never drank. 

"I was sleeping, " he answered calmly. "You woke me, I suppose. I heardyou, and came to see who was prowling around the kitchen at this time ofthe night; that is all. "

"Oh, that's all, is it? But what are you here for? Why aren't you inPrescott where you are supposed to be?"

Patches, because he saw Phil's painful state of mind, exercisedadmirable self-control. "I supposed I had a perfect right to come hereif I wished. I did not dream that my presence in this house would bequestioned. "

"That depends, " Phil retorted. "Why did you leave Prescott?"

Patches, still calm, answered gently. "My reasons for not staying inPrescott are entirely personal, Phil; I do not care to explain justnow. "

"Oh, you don't? Well, it seems to me, sir, that you have a devil of alot of personal business that you can't explain. "

"I am afraid I have, " returned Patches, with his old self-mocking smile. "But, look here, Phil, you are disturbed and all wrought up aboutsomething, or you wouldn't attack me like this. You don't really thinkme a suspicious character, and you know you don't. You are not yourself, old man, and I'll be hanged if I'll take anything you say as an insult, until I know that you say it, deliberately, in cold blood. I'm sorry foryour trouble, Phil--damned sorry--I would give anything if I could helpyou. Perhaps I may be able to prove that later, but just now I think thekindest and wisest thing that I can do for us both is to saygood-night. "

He turned at the last word, without waiting for Phil to speak, and wentback to his room. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

IN GRANITE BASIN. 

On the other side of Granite Mountain from where Phil and Patcheswatched the wild horses that day, there is a rocky hollow, set high inthe hills, but surrounded on every side by still higher peaks andridges. Lying close under the sheer, towering cliffs of the mountain, those fortress-like walls so gray and grim and old seem to overshadowthe place with a somber quiet, as though the memories of the many agesthat had wrought their countless years into those mighty battlementsgave to the very atmosphere a feeling of solemn and sacred seclusion. Itwas as though nature had thrown about this spot a strong protectingguard, that here, in her very heart, she might keep unprofaned thesweetness and strength and beauty of her primitive and everlastingtreasures. 

In its wild and rugged setting, Granite Basin has, for the few who havethe hardihood to find them, many beautiful glades and shady nooks, wherethe grass and wild flowers weave their lovely patterns for the earthfloor, and tall pines spread their soft carpets of brown, while giantoaks and sycamores lift their cathedral arches to support the ceilingsof green, and dark rock fountains set in banks of moss and fern holdwater clear and cold. It was to one of these that Stanford Manningbrought his bride for their honeymoon. Stanford himself pitched theirtent and made their simple camp, for it was not in his plan that thesweet intimacy of these, the first weeks of their mated life, should bemarred, even by servants. And Helen, wise in her love, permitted him torealize his dream in the fullness of its every detail. 

As she lay in the hammock which he had hung for her under the canopy ofliving green, and watched him while he brought wood for their camp fire, and made all ready for the night which was drawing near, she was gladthat he had planned it so. But more than that, she was glad that he wasthe kind of a man who would care to plan it so. Then, when all wasfinished, he came to sit beside her, and together they watched the lightof the setting sun fade from the summit of Old Granite, and saw theflaming cloud-banner that hung above the mountain's castle towers furledby the hand of night. In silence they watched those mighty toweringbattlements grow cold and grim, until against the sky the shadowy bulkstood mysterious and awful, as though to evidence in its grandeur andstrength the omnipotent might and power of the Master Builder of theworld and Giver of all life. 

And when the soft darkness was fully come, and the low murmuring voicesof the night whispered from forest depth and mountain side, while thestars peered through the weaving of leaf and branch, and the ruddy lightof their camp fire rose and fell, the man talked of the things that hadgone into the making of his life. As though he wished his mate to knowhim more fully than anyone else could know, he spoke of those personaltrials and struggles, those disappointments and failures, those plansand triumphs of which men so rarely speak; of his boyhood and hisboyhood home life, of his father and mother, of those hard years of hisyouth, and his struggle for an education that would equip him for hischosen life work; he told her many things that she had known only in ageneral way. 

But most of all he talked of those days when he had first met her, andof how quickly and surely the acquaintance had grown into friendship, and then into a love which he dared not yet confess. Smilingly he toldhow he had tried to convince himself that she was not for him. And how, believing that she loved and would wed his friend, Lawrence Knight, hehad come to the far West, to his work, and, if he could, to forget. 

"But I could not forget, dear girl, " he said. "I could not escape theconviction that you belonged to me, as I felt that I belonged to you. Icould not banish the feeling that some mysterious higher law--the lawthat governs the mating of the beautifully free creatures that live inthese hills--had mated you and me. And so, as I worked and tried toforget, I went on dreaming just the same. It was that way when I firstsaw this place. I was crossing the country on my way to examine someprospects for the company, and camped at this very spot. And thatevening I planned it all, just as it is to-night. I put the tent there, and built our fire, and stretched your hammock under the tree, and satwith you in the twilight; but even as I dreamed it I laughed at myselffor a fool, for I could not believe that the dream would ever come true. And then, when I got back to Prescott, there was a letter from aCleveland friend, telling me that Larry had gone abroad to be away ayear or more, and another letter from the company, calling me Eastagain. And so I stopped at Cleveland and--" He laughed happily. "I knownow that dreams do come true. "

"You foolish boy, " said Helen softly. "To think that I did not know. Why, when you went away, I was so sure that you would come for me again, that I never even thought that it could be any other way. I thought youdid not speak because you felt that you were too poor, because you feltthat you had so little to offer, and because you wished to proveyourself and your work before asking me to share your life. I did notdream that you could doubt my love for you, or think for a moment thatthere could ever be anyone else. I felt that you _must_ know; and so, you see, while I waited I had my dreams, too. "

"But don't you see, girl, " he answered, as though for a moment he foundit hard to believe his own happiness, "don't you see? Larry is such asplendid fellow, and you two were such friends, and you always seemed sofond of him, and with his wealth he could give you so much that I knew Inever could give--"

"Of course, I am fond of Larry; everyone is. He has absolutely nothingto do in the world but to make himself charming and pleasant andentertaining and amusing. Why, Stan, I don't suppose that in all hislife he ever did one single thing that was necessary or useful. He evenhad a man to help him dress. He is cultured and intellectual, and brightand witty, and clean and good-natured, possessing, in fact, all thequalifications of a desirable lap dog, and you can't help liking him, just as you would like a pretty, useless pet. "

Stanford chuckled. She had described Lawrence Knight so accurately. 

"Poor old Larry, " he said. "What a man he might have been if he had notbeen so pampered and petted and envied and spoiled, all because of hisfather's money. His heart is right, and at the bottom he has the rightsort of stuff in him. His athletic record at school showed us that. Ithink that was why we all liked him so in spite of his uselessness. "

"I wish you could have known my father, Stan, " said Helen thoughtfully, as though she, too, were moved to speak by the wish that her mate mightknow more of the things that had touched her deeper life. 

"I wish so, too, " he answered. "I know that he must have been fine. "

"He was my ideal, " she answered softly. "My other ideal, I mean. Fromthe time I was a slip of a girl he made me his chum. Until he died wewere always together. Mother died when I was a baby, you know. Many, many times he would take me with him when he made his professionalvisits to his patients, leaving me in the buggy to wait at eachhouse--'to be his hitching post'--he used to say. And on those longrides, sometimes out into the country, he talked to me as I suppose notmany fathers talk to their daughters. And because he was my father and aphysician, and because we were so much alone in our companionship, Ibelieved him the wisest and best man in all the world, and felt thatnothing he said or did could be wrong. And so, you see, dear, my idealman, the man to whom I could give myself, came to be the kind of a manthat my father placed in the highest rank among men--a man like you, Stan. And almost the last talk we had before he died father said tome--I remember his very words--'My daughter, it will not be long nowuntil men will seek you, until someone will ask you to share his life. Keep your ideal man safe in your heart of hearts, daughter, and rememberthat no matter what a suitor may have to offer of wealth or social rank, if he is not your ideal--if you cannot respect and admire him for hischaracter and manhood alone--say no; say no, child, at any cost. Butwhen your ideal man comes--the one who compels your respect andadmiration for his strength of character, and for the usefulness of hislife, the one whom you cannot help loving for his manhood alone--matewith him--no matter how light his purse or how lowly his rank in theworld. ' And so you see, as soon as I learned to know you, I realizedwhat you were to me. But I wish--oh, how I wish--that father could havelived to know you, too. "

For some time they watched the dancing camp fire flames in silence, asthough they had found in their love that true oneness that needs nospoken word. 

Then Stanford said, "And to think that we expected to wait two years ormore, and now--thanks to a soulless corporation--we are here in a littleless than a year!"

"Thanks to no soulless corporation for that, sir, " retorted Helen withspirit. "But thanks to the brains and strength and character of myhusband. "

Two of the three weeks' vacation granted the engineer had passed whenMrs. Manning, one afternoon, informed her husband that as the ordainedprovider for the household it was imperative that he provide some gamefor their evening meal. 

"And what does Her Majesty, the cook, desire?" he asked. "Venison, perhaps?"

She shook her head with decision. "You will be obliged to go too far, and be gone too long, to get a deer. "

"But you're going with me, of course. "

Again she shook her head. "I have something else to do. I can't alwaysbe tagging around after you while you are providing, you know; and wemay as well begin to be civilized again. Just go a little way--not sofar that you can't hear me call--and bring me some nice fat quail likethose we had day before yesterday. "

She watched him disappear in the brush and then busied herself about thecamp. Presently she heard the gun, and smiled as she pictured himhunting for their supper, much as though they were two primitivechildren of nature, instead of the two cultured members of a highlycivilized race, that they really were. Then, presently she must go tothe spring for water, that he might have a cool drink when he returned. 

She was half way to the spring, singing softly to herself, when a soundon the low ridge above the camp attracted her attention. Pausing, shelooked and listened. The song died on her lips. It could not be Stafordcoming so noisily through the brush and from that direction. Even asthe thought came, she heard the gun again, a little farther away downthe narrow valley below the camp, and, in the same moment, the noise onthe ridge grew louder, as though some heavy animal were crashing throughthe bushes. And then suddenly, as she stood there in frightenedindecision, a long-horned, wild-eyed steer broke through the brush onthe crest of the ridge and plunged down the steep slope toward the camp. 

Weak and helpless with fear, Helen could neither scream nor run, butstood fascinated by the very danger that menaced her--powerless, even, to turn her eyes away from the frightful creature that had so rudelybroken the quiet seclusion of the little glade. Behind the steer, evenas the frenzied animal leaped from the brow of the hill, she saw ahorseman, as wild in his appearance and in his reckless rushing haste asthe creature he pursued. Curiously, as in a dream, she saw the horse'sneck and shoulders dripping wet with sweat, as with ears flat, noseoutstretched, and nostrils wide the animal strained every nerve in aneffort to put his rider a few feet closer to the escaping quarry. Sheeven noted the fringed leather chaps, the faded blue jumper, the broadhat of the rider, and that in his rein hand he held the coil of a riatahigh above the saddle horn, while in his right was the half-opened loop. The bridle reins were loose, as though he gave the horse no thought; andthey took the steep, downward plunge from the summit of the ridgewithout an instant's pause, and apparently with all the ease andconfidence that they would have felt on smooth and level ground. 

The steer, catching sight of the woman, and seeing in her, perhaps, another enemy, swerved a little in his plunging course, and, withlowered head, charged straight at her. 

The loop of that rawhide rope was whirling now above the cowboy's head, and his spurs drew blood from the heaving flanks of the straining horse, as every mad leap of the steer brought death a few feet nearer thehelpless woman. 

The situation must have broken with frightful suddenness upon the man, but he gave no sign--no startled shout, no excited movement. He evenappeared, to Helen, to be as coolly deliberate as though no thought ofher danger disturbed him; and she recognized, even in that awful moment, the cowboy whom she had watched through the field glasses, that day ofthe celebration at Prescott. She could not know that, in the sameinstant, as his horse plunged down from the summit of the ridge, Patcheshad recognized her; and that as his hand swung the riata with such cooland deliberate precision, the man was praying--praying as only a man whosees the woman he loves facing a dreadful death, with no hand but his tosave her, could pray. 

God help him if his training of nerve and hand should fail now! Christpity him, if that whirling loop should miss its mark, or fall short!

His eye told him that the distance was still too great. He must--he_must_--lessen it; and again his spurs drew blood. He must be cool--cooland steady and sure--and he must act now--NOW!

Helen saw the racing horse make a desperate leap as the spurs tore hisheaving sides; she saw that swiftly whirling loop leave the rider'shand, as the man leaned forward in his saddle. Curiously she watched theloop open with beautiful precision, as the coils were loosed and thelong, thin line lengthened through the air. It seemed to move soslowly--those wickedly lowered horns were so near! Then she saw therider's right hand move with flashlike quickness to the saddle horn, ashe threw his weight back, and the horse, with legs braced and hoofsplowing the ground, stopped in half his own length, and set his weightagainst the weight of the steer. The flexible riata straightened as arod of iron, the steer's head jerked sideways; his horns buriedthemselves in the ground; he fell, almost at her feet. And then, as thecowboy leaped from his horse, Helen felt herself sinking into a soft, thick darkness that, try as she might, she could not escape. 

Still master of himself, but with a kind of fierce coolness, Patches ranto the fallen steer and securely tied the animal down. But when heturned to the woman who lay unconscious on the ground, a sob burst fromhis lips, and tears were streaming down his dust-grimed cheeks. And ashe knelt beside her he called again and again that name which, a yearbefore, he had whispered as he stood with empty, outstretched arms, alone, on the summit of the Divide. 

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the hammock, and findingwater and a towel, wet her brow and face; and all the while, in an agonyof fear, he talked to her with words of love. 

Overwrought by the unexpected, and, to him, almost miraculous meetingwith Helen--weak and shaken by the strain of those moments of herdanger, when her life depended so wholly upon his coolness andskill--unnerved by the sight of her lying so still and white, and besidehimself with the strength of his passion--the man made no effort toaccount for her presence in that wild and lonely spot, so far from thescenes amid which he had learned to know and love her. He was consciousonly that she was there--that she had been very near to death--that hehad held her in his arms--and that he loved her with all the strength ofhis manhood. 

Presently, with a low cry of joy, he saw the blood creep back into herwhite cheeks. Slowly her eyes opened and she looked wonderingly up intohis face. 

"Helen!" he breathed. "Helen!"

"Why, Larry!" she murmured, still confused and wondering. "So it _was_you, after all! But what in the world are you doing here like this? Theytold me your name was Patches--Honorable Patches. "

Then the man spoke--impetuously, almost fiercely, his words came withoutthought. 

"I am here because I would be anything, do anything that a man could beand do to win your love. A year ago, when I told you of my love, andasked you to be my wife, and, like the silly, pampered, petted fool thatI was, thought that my wealth and the life that I offered could countfor anything with a woman like you, you laughed at me. You told me thatif ever you married, you would wed a man, not a fortune nor a socialposition. You made me see myself as I was--a useless idler, a dummy forthe tailors, a superficial chatterer of pretty nothings to vain andshallow women; you told me that I possessed not one manly trait ofcharacter that could compel the genuine love of an honest woman. You letme see the truth, that my proposal to you was almost an insult. You mademe understand that your very friendship for me was such a friendship asyou might have with an amusing and irresponsible boy, or a spoiledchild. You could not even consider my love for you seriously, as a womanlike you must consider the love of a strong man. And you were right, Helen. But, dear, it was for me a bitter, bitter lesson. I went fromyou, ashamed to look men in the face. I felt myself guilty--a pitifullyweak and cowardly thing, with no right to exist. In my humiliation, Iran from all who knew me--I came out here to escape from the life thathad made me what I was--that had robbed me of my manhood. And here, bychance, in the contests at the celebration in Prescott, I saw a man--acowboy--who possessed everything that I lacked, and for the lack ofwhich you had laughed at me. And then alone one night I faced myself andfought it out. I knew that you were right, Helen, but it was not easy togive up the habits and luxury to which all my life I had beenaccustomed. It was not easy, I say, but my love for you made it aglorious thing to do; and I hoped and believed that if I proved myself aman, I could go back to you, in the strength of my manhood, and youwould listen to me. And so, penniless and a stranger, under an assumedname, I sought useful, necessary work that called for the highestquality of manhood. And I have won, Helen; I know that I have won. To-day Patches, the cowboy, can look any man in the face. He can takehis place and hold his own among men of any class anywhere. I haveregained that of which the circumstances of birth and inheritance andtraining robbed me. I have won the right of a man to come to you again. I claim that right now, Helen. I tell you again that I love you. I loveyou as--"

"Larry! Larry!" she cried, springing to her feet, and drawing away fromhim, as though suddenly awakened from some strange spell. "Larry, youmust not! What do you mean? How can you say such things to me?"

He answered her with reckless passion. "I say such things because I am aman, and because you are the woman I love and want; because--"

She cried out again in protest. "Oh, stop, stop! Please stop! Don't youknow?"

"Know what?" he demanded. 

"My--my husband!" she gasped. "Stanford Manning--we are here on ourhoneymoon. "

She saw him flinch as though from a heavy blow, and put out his hand tothe trunk of a tree near which they stood, to steady himself. He did notspeak, but his lips moved as though he repeated her words to himself, over and over again; and he gazed at her with a strange bewildered, doubting look, as though he could not believe his own suffering. 

Impulsively Helen went a step toward him. "Larry!" she said. "Larry!"

Her voice seemed to arouse him and he stood erect as though by aconscious effort of will. Then that old self-mocking smile was on hislips. He was laughing at his hurt--making sport of himself and his cruelpredicament. 

But to Helen there was that in his smile which wrung her woman heart. "Oh, Larry, " she said gently. "Forgive me; I am so sorry; I--"

He put out his hand with a gesture of protest, and his voice was calmand courteous. "I beg your pardon, Helen. It was stupid of me not tohave understood. I forgot myself for the moment. It was all sounexpected--meeting you like this. I did not think. " He looked awaytoward his waiting horse and to the steer lying on the ground. "So youand Stanford Manning--Good old Stan! I am glad for him. And for you, too, Helen. Why, it was I who introduced him to you; do you remember?"

He smiled again that mirthless, self-mocking smile, as he added withoutgiving her time to speak, "If you will excuse me for a moment, I willrid your camp of the unwelcome presence of that beast yonder. " Then hewent toward his horse, as though turning for relief to the work that hadbecome so familiar to him. 

She watched him while he released the steer, and drove the animal awayover the ridge, where he permitted it to escape into the wild hauntswhere it lived with its outlaw companions. 

When he rode back to the little camp Stanford had returned. 

For an hour they talked together as old friends. But Helen, while sheoffered now and then a word or a remark, or asked a question, andlaughed or smiled with them, left the talk mostly to the two men. Stanford, when the first shock of learning of Helen's narrow escape wasover, was gaily enthusiastic and warm in his admiration for his oldfriend, who had, for no apparent reason but the wish to assert his ownmanhood, turned his back upon the ease and luxury of his wealth to livea life of adventurous hardship. And Patches, as he insisted they shouldcall him, with many a laughing jest and droll comment told them of hisnew life and work. He was only serious when he made them promise to keephis identity a secret until he himself was ready to reveal his realname. 

"And what do you propose to do when your game of Patches is played out?"Stanford asked curiously. 

For an instant they saw him smiling mockingly at himself; then heanswered lightly, "Try some other fool experiment, I reckon. "

Stanford chuckled; the reply was so like the cowboy Patches, and sounlike his old friend Larry Knight. 

"As for that, Stan, " Patches continued, "I don't see that the game willever be played out, as you say. Certainly I can never now go backaltogether to what I was. The fellow you used to know in Cleveland isnot really I, you see. Fact is, I think that fellow is quite dead--peacebe to his ashes! The world is wide and there is always work for a man todo. "

The appearance of Phil Acton on the ridge, at the spot where the steer, followed by Patches, had first appeared, put an end to their furtherconversation with Lawrence Knight. 

"My boss!" said that gentleman, in his character of Patches the cowboy, as the Cross-Triangle foreman halted his horse on the brow of the hill, and sat looking down upon the camp. 

"Be careful, please, and don't let him suspect that you ever saw mebefore. I'll sure catch it now for loafing so long. "

"I know him, " said Stanford. Then he called to the man above, "Come ondown, Acton, and be sociable. "

Phil rode into camp, shook hands with Stanford cordially, and waspresented to Mrs. Manning, to whom he spoke with a touch ofembarrassment. Then he said, with a significant look at Patches, "I'mglad to meet you people, Mr. Manning, but we really haven't much timefor sociability just now. Mr. Baldwin sent me with an outfit into thisGranite Basin country to gather some of these outlaw steers. He expectsus to be on the job. " Turning to Patches, he continued, "When you didn'tcome back I thought you must have met with some serious trouble, and sotrailed you. We've managed to lose a good deal of time, altogether. Thatsteer you were after got away from you, did he?"

Helen spoke quickly. "Oh, Mr. Acton, you must not blame Mr. Patches forwhat happened. Really, you must not. No one was to blame; it justhappened--" She stopped, unable to finish the explanation, for she wasthinking of that part of the incident which was known only to herselfand Patches. 

Stanford told in a few words of his wife's danger and how the cowboy hadsaved her. 

"That was mighty good work, Patches, " said Phil heartily, "mighty goodwork. I'm sorry, Mr. Manning, that our coming up here after theseoutlaws happened at just this time. It is too bad to so disturb you andMrs. Manning. We are going home Friday, however, and I'll tell the boysto keep clear of your neighborhood in the meantime. "

As the two Cross-Triangle men walked toward their horses, Helen andStanford heard Phil ask, "But where is that steer, Patches?"

"I let him go, " returned Patches. 

"You let him go!" exclaimed the foreman. "After you had him roped andtied? What did you do that for?"

Patches was confused. "Really, I don't know. "

"I'd like to know what you figure we're up here for, " said Phil, sharply. "You not only waste two or three hours visiting with thesepeople, but you take my time trailing you up; and then you turn loose asteer after you get him. It looks like you'd lost your head mighty bad, after all. "

"I'm afraid you're right, Phil, " Patches answered quietly. 

Helen looked at her husband indignantly but Stanford was grinning withdelight. 

"To think, " he murmured, "of Larry Knight taking a dressing-down likethat from a mere cowboy foreman!"

But Patches was by no means so meek in spirit as he appeared in hisoutward manner. He had been driven almost to the verge of desperation bythe trying situation, and was fighting for self-control. To take hisforeman's rebuke in the presence of his friends was not easy. 

"I reckon I'd better send you to the home ranch to-night, instead ofBob, " continued Phil, as the two men mounted their horses and sat for amoment facing each other. "It looks like we could spare you best. TellUncle Will to send the chuck wagon and three more punchers, and thatwe'll start for the home ranch Friday. And be sure that you get backhere to-morrow. "

"Shall I go now?"

"Yes, you can go now. "

Patches wheeled his horse and rode away, while Phil disappeared over theridge in the direction from which he had come. 

When the two cowboys were out of sight, Helen went straight to herhusband, and to Stanford's consternation, when he took her in his arms, she was crying. 

"Why, girl, what is it?" he asked, holding her close. 

But she only answered between sobs as she clung to him, "It--it'snothing--never mind, Stan. I'm just upset. "

And Stanford quite naturally thought it was only a case of nerves causedby the danger through which she had passed. 

For nearly an hour, Patches rode toward the home ranch, taking only suchnotice of his surroundings as was necessary in order for him to keep hisdirection. Through the brush and timber, over the ridges down intovalleys and washes, and along the rock-strewn mountain sides he allowedhis horse to pick the way, and take his own gait, with scarcely a touchof rein or spur. 

The twilight hour was beginning when he reached a point from which hecould see, in the distance, the red roofs of the Cross-Trianglebuildings. Checking his horse, he sat for a long time, motionless, looking away over the broad land that had come to mean so much to him, as though watching the passing of the day. 

But the man did not note the changing colors in the western sky; he didnot see the shadows deepening; he was not thinking of the coming of thenight. The sight of the distant spot that, a year before, had held suchpossibilities for him, when, on the summit of the Divide, he had chosenbetween two widely separated ways of life, brought to him, now, a keenerrealization of the fact that he was again placed where he must choose. The sun was down upon those hopes and dreams that in the first hardweeks of his testing had inspired and strengthened him. The night ofdespairing, reckless abandonment of the very ideals of manhood for whichhe had so bravely struggled was upon him; while the spirit and strengthof that manhood which he had so hardly attained fought against itssurrender. 

When Stanford Manning had asked, "What will you do when your game ofPatches is played out?" he had said that the man whom they had known inthe old days was dead. Would this new man also die? Deliberately the manturned about and started back the way he had come. 

In their honeymoon camp, that evening, when the only light in the skywas the light of the stars, and the camp fire's ruddy flames made weirdshadows come and go in the little glade, Helen, lying in the hammock, and Stanford, sitting near, talked of their old friend Lawrence Knight. But as they talked they did not know that a lonely horseman had stoppedon the other side of the low ridge, and leaving his horse, had creptcarefully through the brush, to a point on the brow of the hill, fromwhich he could look down into the camp. 

From where he lay in the darkness, the man could see against the campfire's light the two, where the hammock was swung under the trees. Hecould hear the low murmur of their voices, with now and then a laugh. But it was always the man who laughed, for there was little mirth inHelen's heart that night. Then he saw Stanford go into the tent andreturn again to the hammock; and soon there came floating up to him thesweet, plaintive music of Helen's guitar, and then her voice, full andlow, with a wealth of womanhood in every tone, as she sang a love songto her mate. Later, when the dancing flames of the camp fire had fallento a dull red glow, he saw them go arm in arm into their tent. Then allwas still. The red glow of the fire dimmed to a spark, and darkness drewclose about the scene. But even in the darkness the man could still see, under the wide, sheltering arms of the trees, a lighter spot--the whitetent. 

"Gethsemane, " said the Dean to me once, when our talk had ranged wideand touched upon many things, "Gethsemane ain't no place; it's somethin'that happens. Whenever a man goes up against himself, right there iswhere Gethsemane is. And right there, too, is sure to be a fight. A manmay not always know about it at the time; he may be too busy fightin' tounderstand just what it all means; but he'll know about itafterwards--No matter which side of him wins, he'll know afterwards thatit was the one big fight of his life. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

AT MINT SPRING. 

When those days at Prescott were over, and Mr. And Mrs. Manning had leftfor their camp in Granite Basin, Kitty Reid returned to WilliamsonValley reluctantly. She felt that with Phil definitely out of her lifethe last interest that bound her to the scenes of her girlhood wasbroken. Before many weeks the ranch would be sold. A Prescott agent hadopened negotiations for an eastern client who would soon be out to lookover the property; and Mr. Reid felt, from all that the agent had said, that the sale was assured. In the meantime Kitty would wait as patientlyas she could. To help her, there would be Helen's visit, and there washer friendship with Professor Parkhill. It was not strange, consideringall the circumstances, that the young woman should give her time moregenerously than ever to the only person in the neighborhood, exceptPatches, perhaps, who she felt could understand and appreciate herdesires for that higher life of which even her own parents wereignorant. 

And the professor did understand her fully. He told her so many timeseach day. Had he not given all the years of his little life to the studyof those refining and spiritualizing truths that are so far above thecomprehension of the base and ignoble common herd? Indeed, he understoodher language; he understood fully, why the sordid, brutal materialism ofher crude and uncultured environment so repulsed and disgusted her. Heunderstood, more fully than Kitty herself, in fact, and explained to herclearly, that her desires for the higher intellectual and spiritual lifewere born of her own rare gifts, and evidenced beyond all question thefineness and delicacy of her nature. He rejoiced with her--with a pureand holy joy--that she was so soon to be set free to live amid thesurroundings that would afford her those opportunities for the higherdevelopment of her intellectual and spiritual powers which her soulcraved. All this he told her from day to day; and then, one afternoon, he told her more. 

It was the same afternoon that Patches had so unexpectedly found Helenand Stanford in their Granite Basin camp. Kitty and the professor haddriven in the buckboard to Simmons for the mail, and were coming back bythe road to the Cross-Triangle, when the man asked, "Must we return tothe ranch so soon? It is so delightful out here where there is no one tointrude with vulgar commonplaces, to mar our companionship. "

"Why, no, " returned Kitty. "There is no need for us to hurry home. " Sheglanced around. "We might sit over there, under those cedars on thehill, where you found me with Mr. Patches that day--the day we sawYavapai Joe, you remember. "

"If you think it quite safe to leave the vehicle, " he said, "I should bedelighted. "

Kitty tied the horses to a convenient bush at the foot of the low hill, and soon they were in the welcome shade of the cedars. 

"Miss Reid, " the professor began, with portentous gravity, "I mustconfess that I have been rather puzzled to account for your presencehere that day with such a man as that fellow Patches. You will pardon mysaying so, I am sure, but you must have observed my very deep interestin you. I also chanced to see you with him one day in Prescott, in thepark. You don't mind my speaking of it?"

"Not at all, Professor Parkhill, " Kitty returned, smiling as she thoughthow ignorant the professor was of the cowboy's real character. "I likePatches. He interests me very much; and there is really no reason why Ishould not be friendly with him. Don't you think that I should be kindto our cowboys?"

"I suppose so, " the professor sighed. "But it hurts me to see you haveanything whatever in common with such a man. It shocks me to know thatyou must, in any degree, come in touch with such fellows. I shall bevery glad, indeed, when you are free from any such kindly obligations, and safe among those of your own class. "

Kitty found it very hard to reply. She did not wish to be disloyal toPatches and her many Williamson Valley friends; nor did she like toexplain how Patches had played a part for the professor's benefit, forshe felt that by not exposing the deception she had, in a way, been aparty to it. So she said nothing, but seemed to be silently weighingthe value of her learned companion's observations. At least, it soappeared to the professor, and in her ready acceptance of his impliedcriticism of her conduct he found the encouragement he needed for thatwhich followed. 

"You must understand, Miss Reid, that I have become exceedingly zealousfor your welfare. In these months that we have been so much togetheryour companionship--your spiritual and intellectual companionship, Ishould say--has come to be very dear to me. As our souls have communed, I have felt myself uplifted and inspired. I have been strengthened andencouraged, as never before, to climb on toward the mountain peaks ofpure intellectuality. If I am not mistaken, you, too, have felt a degreeof uplift as a result of our fellowship, have you not?"

"Yes, indeed, Professor Parkhill, " Kitty answered sincerely. "Our talkstogether have meant much more to me than I can tell. I shall neverforget this summer. Your friendship has been a wonderful influence in mylife. "

The little man moved uneasily and glanced timidly around. "I am trulyglad to know that our companionship has not been altogether distastefulto you; I felt sure that it was not, but I--ahem!--I am glad to hearyour confirmation of my opinion. It--ah--it enables me to say that whichfor several weeks past has been weighing heavily on my mind. "

Kitty looked at him with the manner of a trusting disciple waiting forthe gems of truth that were about to fall from the lips of a venerableteacher. 

"Miss Reid--ah--why need our beautiful and mutually profitablecompanionship cease?"

"I fear that I do not understand, Professor Parkhill, " she answered, puzzled by his question. 

He looked at her with just a shade of mild--very mild--rebuke, as hereturned, "Why, I think that I have stated my thought clearly. I meanthat I am very desirous that our relation--the relation which we bothhave found so helpful--should continue. I am sure that we have, in thesemonths which we have spent together, sufficient evidence that our soulsvibrate in perfect harmony. I need you, dear friend; your understandingof my soul's desires is so sympathetic; I feel that you so complementand fill out, as it were, my spiritual self. I need you to encourage, toinspire, to assist me in the noble work to which I am devoting all mystrength. "

She looked at him, now, with an expression of amazement. "Do you mean--"she faltered in confusion while the red blood colored her cheeks. 

"Yes, " he answered, confidently. "I am asking you to be my wife. Not, however, " he added hastily, "in the common, vulgar understanding of thatrelation. I am offering you, dear friend, that which is vastly higherthan the union of the merely animal, which is based wholly upon thepurely physical and material attraction. I am proposing marriage of oursouls--a union, if you please, of our higher intellectual and spiritualselves. I feel, indeed, that by those higher laws which the vulgar, beastlike minds are incapable of recognizing, we are already one. Isense, as it were, that oneness which can exist only when two souls aremated by the great over-soul; I feel that you are already mine--that, Iam--that we are already united in a spiritual union that is--"

The young woman checked him with a gesture, which, had he interpreted itrightly, was one of repulsion. "Please stop, Professor Parkhill, " shegasped in a tone of disgust. 

He was surprised, and not a little chagrined. "Am I to understand thatyou do not reciprocate my sentiment, Miss Reid? Is it possible that Ihave been so mistaken?"

Kitty turned her head, as though she could not bear even to look at him. "What you ask is so impossible, " she said in a low tone. "Impossible!"

Strive as she might, the young woman could not altogether hide herfeeling of abhorrence. And yet, she asked herself, why should this man'sproposal arouse in her such antagonism and repugnance? He was a scholar, famed for his attainments in the world of the highest culture. As hiswife, she would be admitted at once into the very inner circle of thatlife to which she aspired, and for which she was leaving her old homeand friends. He had couched his proposal in the very terms of thespiritually and intellectually elect; he had declared himself in thatlanguage which she had so proudly thought she understood, and in whichshe had so often talked with him; and yet she was humiliated andashamed. It was, to her, as though, in placing his offer of marriageupon the high, pure ground of a spiritual union, he had insulted herwomanhood. Kitty realized wonderingly that she had not felt like thiswhen Phil had confessed his love for her. In her woman heart, she wasproud and glad to have won the love of such a man as Phil, even thoughshe could not accept the cowboy as her mate. On that very spot which theprofessor had chosen for his declaration, Patches had told her that shewas leaving the glorious and enduring realities of life for vain andfoolish bubbles--that she was throwing aside the good grain and choosingthe husks. Was this what Patches meant? she wondered. 

"I regret exceedingly, Miss Reid, " the professor was saying, "that thepure and lofty sentiments which I have voiced do not seem to find a likeresponse in your soul. I--"

Again she interrupted him with that gesture of repulsion. "Please do notsay any more, Professor Parkhill. I--I fear that I am very human, afterall. Come, it is time that we were returning to the house. "

All through the remaining hours of that afternoon and evening Kitty wasdisturbed and troubled. At times she wanted to laugh at the professor'sridiculous proposal; and again, her cheeks burned with anger; and shecould have cried in her shame and humiliation. And with it all her mindwas distraught by the persistent question: Was not the professor'sconception of an ideal mating the legitimate and logical conclusion ofthose very advanced ideas of culture which he represented, and which shehad so much admired? If she sincerely believed the life represented bythe professor and his kind so superior--so far above the liferepresented by Phil Acton--why should she not feel honored instead ofbeing so humiliated and shamed by the professor's--she could not call itlove? If the life which Phil had asked her to share was so low in thescale of civilization; if it were so far beneath the intellectual andspiritual ideals which she had formed, why did she feel so honored bythe strong man's love? Why had she not felt humiliated and ashamed thatPhil should want her to mate with him? Could it be, she asked herselfagain and again, that there was something, after all, superior to thatculture which she had so truly thought stood for the highest ideals ofthe race? Could it be that, in the land of Granite Mountain, there wassomething, after all, that was as superior to the things she had beentaught as Granite Mountain itself was superior in its primeval strengthand enduring grandeur to the man-made buildings of her school?

It was not strange that Kitty's troubled thoughts should turn to HelenManning. Clearly, Helen's education had led to no confusion. On thecontrary, she had found an ideal love, and a happiness such as everytrue, womanly woman must, in her heart of hearts, desire. 

It was far into the night when Kitty, wakeful and restless, heard thesound of a horse's feet. She could not know that it was HonorablePatches riding past on his way to the ranch on the other side of thebroad valley meadows. 

Weary in body, and with mind and spirit exhausted by the trials throughwhich he had passed, Patches crept to his bed. In the morning, when hedelivered his message, the Dean, seeing the man's face, urged him tostay for the day at the ranch. But Patches said no; Phil was expectinghim, and he must return to the outfit in Granite Basin. As soon asbreakfast was over he set out. 

He had ridden as far as the head of Mint Wash, and had stopped to waterhis horse, and to refresh himself with a cool drink and a brief restbeside the fragrant mint-bordered spring, when he heard someone ridingrapidly up the wash the way he had come. A moment later, Kitty, ridingher favorite Midnight, rounded a jutting corner of the rocky wall of thebluff. 

As the girl caught sight of him, there beside the spring, she waved herhand in greeting. And the man, as he waved his answer, and watched herriding toward him, felt a thrill of gladness that she had come. Thestrong, true friendship that began with their very first meeting, whenshe had been so frankly interested in the tenderfoot, and so kindlyhelpful, and which had developed so steadily through the year, gave him, now, a feeling of comfort and relief. Wearied and worn by hisdisappointment and by his struggle with himself, with the cherished hopethat had enabled him to choose and endure the hard life of the rangebrought to a sudden end, with his life itself made so empty and futile, he welcomed his woman friend with a warmth and gladness that brought aflush of pleasure to Kitty's cheek. 

For Kitty, too, had just passed through a humiliating and disappointingexperience. In her troubled frame of mind, and in her perplexed andconfused questioning, the young woman was as glad for the companionshipof Patches as he was glad to welcome her. She felt a curious sense ofrelief and safety in his presence--somewhat as one, who, walking overuncertain bogs or treacherous quicksands, finds, all at once, the solidground. 

"I saw you go past the house, " she said, when she reached the springwhere he stood awaiting her, "and I decided right then that I would goalong with you to Granite Basin and visit my friends the Mannings. Theytold me that I might come this week, and I think they have had quiteenough honeymooning, anyway. You know where they are camped, do you?"

"Yes, " he answered. "I saw them yesterday. But, come! Get down and cooloff a bit. You've been riding some, haven't you?"

"I wanted to catch you as soon as I could, " she laughed, as she spranglightly to the ground. "And you see you gained a good start while I wasgetting Midnight saddled. What a pretty spot! I must have a drink ofthat water this minute. "

"Sorry I have no cup, " he said, and then he laughed with the pleasure ofgood comradeship as she answered:

"You forget that I was born to the customs of this country. " And, throwing aside her broad hat, she went down on the ground to drink fromthe spring, even as he had done. 

As the man watched her, a sudden thought flashed into his mind--athought so startling, so unexpected, that he was for the momentbewildered. 

"Talk about the nectar of the gods!" cried Kitty with a deep breath ofsatisfaction, as she lifted her smiling face from the bright water tolook up at him. And then she drank again. 

"And now, if you please, sir, you may bring me some of thatwater-cress; we'll sit over there in the shade, and who cares whetherGranite Basin, the Mannings, and your fellow cow-punchers, are fifteenor fifty miles away?"

He brought a generous bunch of the water-cress, and stretched himselffull length beside her, as she sat on the ground under a tall sycamore. 

"Selah!" he laughed contentedly. "We seem to lack only the book ofverses, the loaf and the jug; the wilderness is here, all right, andthat's a perfectly good bough up there, and, of course, you couldfurnish the song; I might recite 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck, 'but, alas! we haven't even a flask and biscuit. "

"What a pity that you should be so near and yet so far from paradise!"she retorted quickly. Then she added, with a mischievous smile, "It justhappens that I have a sandwich in my saddle pocket. "

"Won't you sing? Please do, " he returned, with an eagerness that amusedher. 

But she shook her head reprovingly. "We would still lack the jug ofwine, you know, and, really, I don't think that paradise is forcow-punchers, anyway, do you?"

"Evidently not, " he answered. And at her jesting words a queer feelingof rebellion possessed him. Why should he be condemned to years ofloneliness? Why must he face a life without the companionship of a mate?If the paradise he had sought so hard to attain were denied him, whyshould he not still take what happiness he might?

He was lying flat on his back, his hands clasped beneath his head, watching an eagle that wheeled, a tiny black speck, high under the bluearch of the sky. He seemed to have forgotten his companion. 

Kitty leaned toward him, and held a sprig of water-cress over hisupturned face. "I haven't a penny, " she said, "but I'll give you this. "

He sat up quickly. "Even at that price, my thoughts might cost you toomuch. But you haven't told me what you have done with our dear friendthe professor? Haven't you a guilty conscience, deserting him likethis?"

Kitty held up both hands in a gesture of dismay. "Don't, Patches, pleasedon't. Ugh! if you only knew how good it is to be with a _man_ again!"

He laughed aloud in a spirit of reckless defiance. "And Phil is over inGranite Basin. I neglected to tell you that he knows the location of theMannings' camp, as well as I. "

Kitty was a little puzzled by the tone of his laughter, and by hiswords. She spoke gravely. "Perhaps I should tell you, Patches--we havebeen such good friends, you and I--Phil--"

"Yes!" he said. 

"Phil is nothing to me, Patches. I mean--"

"You mean in the way he wanted to be?" He helped her with a touch ofeager readiness. 

"Yes. "

"And have you told him, Kitty?" Patches asked gently. 

"Yes--I have told him, " she replied. 

Patches was silent for a moment. Then, "Poor Phil!" he said softly. "Iunderstand now; I thought that was it. He is a man among thousands, Kitty. "

"I know--I know, " she returned, as though to dismiss the subject. "Butit simply couldn't be. "

Patches was looking at her intently, with an expression in his dark eyesthat Kitty had never before seen. The man's mind was in a whirl of quickexcitement. As they had talked and laughed together, the thought thathad so startled him, when her manner of familiar comradeship had broughtsuch a feeling of comfort to his troubled spirit, had not left him. Fromthat first moment of their meeting a year before there had been thatfeeling between them, of companionship, a feeling which had grown astheir acquaintance had developed into the intimate friendship that hadallowed him to speak to her as he had spoken that day under the cedarson the ridge. What might that friendship not grow into! He thought ofher desire for the life that he knew so well, and how he could, whilegranting every wish of her heart, yet protect her from the shams andfalseness. And with these thoughts was that feeling of rebellion againstthe loneliness of his life. 

Kitty's words regarding Phil removed the barrier, as it were, and theman's nature, which prompted him so often to act without pausing toconsider, betrayed him into saying, "Would you be greatly shocked, Kitty, if I were to tell you that I am glad? That, while I am sorry forPhil, I am glad that you have said no to him?"

"You are glad?" she said wonderingly. "Why?"

"Because, now, _I_ am free to say what I could not have said had you nottold me what you have. I want you, Kitty. I want to fill your life withbeauty and happiness and contentment. I want you to go with me to seeand know the natural wonders of the world, and the wonders that men havewrought. I want to surround you with the beauties of art and literature, with everything that your heart craves. I want you to know the peoplewhose friendship would be a delight to you. Come with me, girl--be mywife, and together we will find--if not paradise, at least a full anduseful and contented and happy life. Will you come, Kitty? Will you comewith me?"

As she listened her eyes grew big with wonder and delight. It was asthough some good genie had suddenly opened wide the way to an enchantedlaud. Then the gladness went swiftly from her face, and she saiddoubtingly, "You are jesting with me, Patches. "

As she spoke his cowboy name, the man laughed aloud. "I forgot that youdo not even know me--I mean, that you do not know my name. "

"Are you some fairy prince in disguise, Sir Patches?"

"Not a fairy, dear, and certainly not a prince; just a man, that's all. But a man, dear girl, who can offer you a clean life, an honored name, and all of which I have spoken. But I must tell you--I always knew thatI would tell you some day, but I did not dream that it would be to-day. My name is Lawrence Knight. My home is in Cleveland, Ohio. Your fathercan easily satisfy himself as to my family and my own personal life andstanding. It is enough for me to assure you now, dear, that I amabundantly able to give you all that I have promised. "

At the mention of his name, Kitty's eyes grew bright again. Thanks toher intimate friend and schoolmate, Helen Manning, she knew much more ofLawrence Knight than that gentleman supposed. 

"But, tell me, " she asked curiously, trembling with suppressedexcitement, "why is Mr. Lawrence Knight masquerading here as the cowboyHonorable Patches?"

He answered earnestly. "I know it must seem strange to you, dear, butthe simple truth is that I became ashamed of myself and my life of idleuselessness. I determined to see if I could take my place among men, simply as a man. I wanted to be accepted by men for myself, for mymanhood, if you like, and not because of my--" he hesitated, then saidfrankly--"my money and social position. I wanted to depend uponmyself--to live as other men live, by my own strength and courage andwork. If I had given my real name, when I asked for work at theCross-Triangle--someone would have found me out before very long, and mylittle experiment would have failed, don't you see?"

While he spoke, Kitty's excited mind had caught at many thoughts. Shebelieved sincerely that her girlhood love for Phil was dead. This man, even as Patches the cowboy, with a questionable shadow on his life, hadcompelled her respect and confidence, while in his evident education andsocial culture he had won her deepest admiration. She felt that he wasall that Phil was, and more. There was in her feeling toward him, as heoffered himself to her now, no hint of that instinctive repulsion andabhorrence with which she had received Professor Parkhill's declarationof spiritual affinity. Her recent experience with the Master ofAesthetics had so outraged her womanly instincts that the inevitablereaction from her perplexed and troubled mind led her to feel moredeeply, and to be drawn more strongly, toward this man with whom anywoman might be proud to mate. At the same time, the attractions of thelife which she knew he could give her, and for which she longed sopassionately, with the relief of the thought that her parents would notneed to sacrifice themselves for her, were potent factors in the powerof Lawrence Knight's appeal. 

"It would be wonderful, " she said musingly. "I have dreamed and dreamedabout such things. "

"You will come with me, dear? You will let me give you your heart'swish--you will go with me into the life for which you are so fitted?"

"Do you really want me, Patches?" she asked timidly, as though in hermind there was still a shadow of doubt. 

"More than anything in the world, " he urged. "Say yes. Kitty. Say thatyou will be my wife. "

The answer came softly, with a hint of questioning, still. 

"Yes. "

Kitty did not notice that the man had not spoken of his love for her. There were so many other things for her to consider, so many otherthings to distract her mind. Nor did the man notice that Kitty herselfhad failed to speak in any way that little word, which, rightlyunderstood, holds in its fullest, deepest meaning, all of life'shappiness--of labor and accomplishment--of success and triumph--ofsacrifice and sorrow; holds, in its fullest, deepest meaning, indeed, all of life itself. 

CHAPTER XV. 

ON CEDAR RIDGE. 

Kitty's friends were very glad to welcome her at their camp in GraniteBasin. The incident which had so rudely broken the seclusion of theirhoneymoon had been too nearly a tragedy to be easily forgotten. Thecharm of the place was, in some degree, for them, lost, and Kitty'scoming helped to dispel the cloud that had a little overshadowed thoselast days of their outing. 

It was not at all difficult for them to persuade Kitty to remain longerthan the one night that she had planned, and to accompany them toPrescott. Prom Prescott, Stanford must go to the mines, to take up hiswork, and to arrange for Helen's coming later, and Helen would go homewith Kitty for the visit she had promised. The cowboys, who werereturning to the Cross-Triangle Ranch, would take Kitty's horse to herhome, and would carry a message explaining the young woman's absence, and asking that someone be sent to Prescott with the clothing she wouldneed in town, and that the Reid automobile might be in Prescott inreadiness to take the two young women back to the ranch on theappointed day. 

Kitty could not bring herself to tell even Helen about her engagement toLawrence Knight, or Patches, as she would continue to call him until thetime came for the cowboy himself to make his true name and characterknown. It had all happened so suddenly; the promises of the future wereso wonderful--so far beyond the young woman's fondest dreams--that sheherself could scarcely realize the truth. There would be time enough totell Helen when they were together at the ranch. And she was insistent, too, that Patches must not interview her father until she herself hadreturned home. 

Phil and his cowboys with the cattle reached the Cross-Triangle corralsthe evening before the day set for Kitty and Helen to arrive at theranch on the other side of the valley meadows. The Cross-Triangle menwere greeted by the news that Professor Parkhill had said good-by toWilliamson Valley, and that the Pot-Hook-S Ranch had been sold. Theeastern purchaser expected by Reid had arrived on the day that Kitty hadgone to Granite Basin, and the deal had been closed without delay. ButReid was not to give possession of the property until after the fallrodeo. 

As the men sat under the walnut trees with the Dean that evening, discussing the incidents of the Granite Basin work, and speculatingabout the new owner of the neighboring ranch, Phil sat with Little Billyapart from the circle, and contributed to the conversation only now andthen a word or a brief answer to some question. When Mrs. Baldwinpersuaded the child that it was bedtime, Phil slipped quietly away inthe darkness, and they did not see him again until breakfast the nextmorning. When breakfast was over, the foreman gave a few directions tohis men, and rode away alone. 

The Dean, understanding the lad, whom he loved as one of his own sons, watched him go without a word or a question. To Mrs. Baldwin he said, "Just let him alone, Stella. The boy is all right. He's only gone offsomewhere on the range to fight it out alone. Most likely he'll put inthe day watching those wild horses over beyond Toohey. He generally goesto them when he's bothered about anything or in trouble of any sort. "

Patches, who had been sent on an errand of some kind to Fair Oaks, wasreturning home early in the afternoon, and had reached the neighborhoodof that spring where he had first encountered Nick Cambert, when heheard a calf bawling lustily somewhere in the cedar timber not far away. Familiar as he now was with the voices of the range, the cowboy knewthat the calf was in trouble. The call was one of fright and pain. 

Turning aside from his course, he rode, rapidly at first, then morecautiously, toward the sound. Presently he caught a whiff of smoke thatcame with the light breeze from somewhere ahead on the ridge along whichhe was riding. Instantly he rode into a thick clump of cedars, and, dismounting, tied his horse. Then he went on, carefully and silently, onfoot. Soon he heard voices. Again the calf bawled in fright and pain, and the familiar odor of burning hair was carried to him on the breeze. Someone was branding a calf. 

It might be all right--it might not. Patches was unarmed, but, withcharacteristic disregard of consequences, he crept softly forward, toward a dense growth of trees and brush, from beyond which the noiseand the smoke seemed to come. 

He had barely gained the cover when he heard someone on the other sideride rapidly away down the ridge. Hastily parting the bushes, he lookedthrough to catch a glimpse of the horseman, but he was a moment toolate; the rider had disappeared from sight in the timber. But, in alittle open space among the cedars, the cowboy saw Yavapai Joe, standingbeside a calf, fresh-branded with the Four-Bar-M iron, and earmarkedwith the Tailholt marks. 

Patches knew instantly, as well as though he had witnessed the actualbranding, what, had happened. That part of the range was seldom visitedexcept by the Dean's cowboys, and the Tailholt Mountain men, knowingthat the Cross-Triangle riders were all at Granite Basin, were makinggood use of their opportunities. The man who had ridden away sohurriedly, a moment too soon for Patches to see him, was, without doubt, driving the mother of the calf to a distance that would effectuallyseparate her from her offspring. 

But while he was so sure in his own mind, the Cross-Triangle man--as ithad so often happened before--had arrived on the scene too late. He hadno positive evidence that the animal just branded was not the lawfulproperty of Nick Cambert. 

As Patches stepped from the bushes, Yavapai Joe faced him for a momentin guilty astonishment and fear; then he ran toward his horse. 

"Wait a minute, Joe!" called Patches. "What good will it do for you torun now? I'm not going to harm you. "

Joe stopped, and stood hesitating in indecision, watching the intruderwith that sneaking, sidewise look. 

"Come on, Joe; let's have a little talk about this business, " theCross-Triangle man said in a matter-of-fact tone, as he seated himselfon a large, flat-topped stone near the little fire. "You know you can'tget away, so you might as well. "

"I ain't tellin' nothin' to nobody, " said Joe sullenly, as he cameslowly toward the Dean's cowboy. 

"No?" said Patches. 

"No, I ain't, " asserted the Tailholt Mountain man stoutly. "That therecalf is a Four-Bar-M calf, all right. "

"I see it is, " returned the Cross-Triangle rider calmly. "But I'll justwait until Nick gets back, and ask him what it was before he worked overthe iron. "

Joe, excited and confused by the cool nerve of this man, fell readilyinto the verbal trap. 

"You better go now, an' not wait to ask Nick no fool questions likethat. If he finds you here talkin' with me when he gets back, hell'll bea-poppin' fer sure. Me an' you are friends, Patches, an' that's why I'ma-tellin' you you better pull your freight while the goin's good. "

"Much obliged, Joe, but there's no hurry. You don't need to be sorushed. It will be an hour before Nick gets back, if he drives that cowas far as he ought. "

Again poor Yavapai Joe told more than he intended. "You don't need toworry none 'bout Nick; he'll sure drive her far enough. He ain't takin'no chances, Nick ain't. "

With his convictions so readily confirmed, Patches had good ground uponwhich to base his following remarks. He had made a long shot when hespoke so confidently of the brand on the calf being worked over. For, ofcourse, the calf might not have been branded at all when the TailholtMountain men caught it. But Joe's manner, as well as his warning answer, told that the shot had gone home. The fact that the brand had beenworked over established also the fact that it was the Cross-Trianglebrand that had been changed, because the Cross-Triangle was the onlybrand in that part of the country that could be changed into theFour-Bar-M. 

Patches, dropping his easy manner, and speaking straight to the point, said, "Look here, Joe, you and I might as well get down to cases. Youknow I am your friend, and I don't want to see you in trouble, but youcan take it from me that you are in mighty serious trouble right now. Iwas hiding right there in those bushes, close enough to see all thathappened, and I know that this is a Cross-Triangle calf, and that Nickand you worked the brand over. You know that it means the penitentiaryfor you, as well as for Nick, if the boys don't string you both upwithout any ceremony. "

Patches paused to let his words sink in. 

Joe's face was ashy white, and he was shaking with fright, as he stole asneaking look toward his horse. 

Patches added sharply, "You can't give me the slip, either; I can killyou before you get half way to your horse. "

Trapped and helpless, Joe looked pleadingly at his captor. "You wouldn'tsend me up, would you, now, Patches?" he whined. "You an' me's goodfriends, ain't we? Anyway he wouldn't let me go to the pen, an' the boyswouldn't dast do nothin' to me when they knew. "

"Whom are you talking about?" demanded Patches. "Nick? Don't be a fool, Joe; Nick will be there right alongside of you. "

"I ain't meanin' Nick; I mean _him_ over there at theCross-Triangle--Professor Parkhill. I'm a-tellin' you that _he_ wouldn'tlet you do nothin' to me. "

"Forget it, Joe, " came the reply, without an instant's hesitation. "Youknow as well as I do how much chance Professor Parkhill, or anyone else, would have, trying to keep the boys from making you and Nick dance onnothing, once they hear of this. Besides, the professor is not in thevalley now. "

The poor outcast's fright was pitiful. "You ain't meanin' that he--thathe's gone?" he gasped. 

"Listen, Joe, " said Patches quickly. "I can do more for you than hecould, even if he were here. You know I am your friend, and I don't wantto see a good fellow like you sent to prison for fifteen or twentyyears, or, perhaps, hanged. But there's only one way that I can see forme to save you. You must go with me to the Cross-Triangle, and tell Mr. Baldwin all about it, how you were just working for Nick, and how hemade you help him do this, and all that you know. If you do that, we canget you off. "

"I--I reckon you're right, Patches, " returned the frightened weaklingsullenly. "Nick has sure treated me like a dog, anyway. You won't letNick get at me, will you, if I go?"

"Nobody can get at you, Joe, if you go with me, and do the square thing. I'm going to take care of you myself, and help you to get out of this, and brace up and be a man. Come on; let's be moving. I'll turn this calfloose first, though. "

He was bending over the calf when a noise in the brush caused him tostand suddenly erect. 

Joe was whimpering with terror. 

Patches said fiercely, but in a low tone, "Shut up, and follow my lead. Be a man, and I'll get you out of this yet. "

"Nick will kill us sure, " whined Joe. 

"Not if I get my hands on him first, he won't, " retorted Patches. 

But it was with a feeling of relief that the cowboy saw Phil Acton ridetoward them from the shelter of the timber. 

Before Patches could speak, Phil's gun covered him, and the foreman'svoice rang out sharply. 

"Hands up!"

Joe's hands shot above his head. Patches hesitated. 

"Quick!" said Phil. 

And as Patches saw the man's eyes over the black barrel of the weapon heobeyed. But as he raised his hands, a dull flush of anger colored histanned face a deeper red, and his eyes grew dark with passion. Herealized his situation instantly. The mystery that surrounded his firstappearance when he had sought employment at the Cross-Triangle; thepersistent suspicion of many of the cowboys because of his friendshipfor Yavapai Joe; his meeting with Joe which the professor had reported;his refusal to explain to Phil; his return to the ranch when everyonewas away and he himself was supposed to be in Prescott--all these andmany other incidents had come to their legitimate climax in his presenceon that spot with Yavapai Joe, the smouldering fire and the freshlybranded calf. He was unarmed, but Phil could not be sure of that, formany a cowboy carries his gun inside the leg of his leather chaps, whereit does not so easily catch in the brush. 

But while Patches saw it all so clearly, he was enraged that this manwith whom he had lived so intimately should believe him capable of sucha crime, and treat him without question as a common cattle thief. Phil'scoldness toward him, which had grown so gradually during the past threemonths, in this peremptory humiliation reached a point beyond whichPatches' patient and considerate endurance could not go. The man's senseof justice was outraged; his fine feeling of honor was insulted. Trappedand helpless as he was under that menacing gun, he was possessed by adetermination to defend himself against the accusation, and to teachPhil Acton that there was a limit to the insult he would endure, even inthe name of friendship. To this end his only hope was to trap hisforeman with words, as he had caught Yavapai Joe. At a game of wordsHonorable Patches was no unskilled novice. Controlling his anger, hesaid coolly, with biting sarcasm, while he looked at the cowboy with amocking sneer, "You don't propose to take any chances, do you--holdingup an unarmed man?"

Patches saw by the flush that swept over Phil's cheeks how his wordsbit. 

"It doesn't pay to take chances with your kind, " retorted the foremanhotly. 

"No, " mocked Patches, "but it will pay big, I suppose, for the great'Wild Horse Phil' to be branded as a sneak and a coward who is afraid toface an unarmed man unless he can get the drop on him?"

Phil was goaded to madness by the cool, mocking words. With a recklesslaugh, he slipped his weapon into the holster and sprang to the ground. At the same moment Patches and Joe lowered their hands, and Joe, unnoticed by either of the angry men, took a few stealthy steps towardhis horse. 

Phil, deliberately folding his arms, stood looking at Patches. 

"I'll just call that bluff, you sneakin' calf stealer, " he said coolly. "Now, unlimber that gun of yours, and get busy. "

Angry as he was, Patches felt a thrill of admiration for the man, andbeneath his determination to force Phil Acton to treat him with respect, he was proud of his friend who had answered his sneering insinuationwith such fearlessness. But he could not now hesitate in his plan ofprovoking Phil into disarming himself. 

"You're something of a four-flusher yourself, aren't you?" he mocked. "You know I have no gun. Your brave pose is very effective. I wouldcongratulate you, only, you see, it doesn't impress me in the least. "

With an oath Phil snatched his gun from the holster, and threw it aside. 

"Have it any way you like, " he retorted, and started toward Patches. 

Then a curious thing happened to Honorable Patches. Angry as he was, hebecame suddenly dominated by something that was more potent than hisrage. 

"Stop!" he cried sharply, and with such ringing force that Philinvoluntarily obeyed. "I can't fight you this way, Phil, " he said; andthe other, wondering, saw that whimsical, self-mocking smile on hislips. "You know as well as I do that you are no match for me barehanded. You couldn't even touch me; you have seen Curly and the others try itoften enough. You are as helpless in my power, now, as I was in yours amoment ago. I am armed now and you are not. I can't fight you this way, Phil. "

In spite of himself Phil Acton was impressed by the truth and fairnessof Patches' words. He recognized that an unequal contest could satisfyneither of them, and that it made no difference which of the contestantshad the advantage. 

"Well, " he said sarcastically, "what are you going to do about it?"

"First, " returned Patches calmly, "I am going to tell you how I happenedto be here with Yavapai Joe. "

"I don't need any explanations from you. It's some more of your personalbusiness, I suppose, " retorted Phil. 

Patches controlled himself. "You are going to hear the explanation, justthe same, " he returned. "You can believe it or not, just as you please. "

"And what then?" demanded Phil. 

"Then I'm going to get a gun, and we'll settle the rest of it, man toman, on equal terms, just as soon as you like, " answered Patchesdeliberately. 

Phil replied shortly. "Go ahead with your palaver. I'll have to hand itto you when it comes to talk. I am not educated that way myself. "

For a moment Patches hesitated, as though on the point of changing hismind about the explanation. Then his sense of justice--justice both forPhil and himself--conquered. 

But in telling Phil how he had come upon the scene too late for positiveproof that the freshly branded calf was the Dean's property, and inexplaining how, when the foreman arrived, he had just persuaded Joe togo with him and give the necessary evidence against Nick, Patches forgotthe possible effect of his words upon Joe himself. The twoCross-Triangle men were so absorbed in their own affair that they hadpaid no attention to the Tailholt Mountain outcast. And Joe, takingadvantage of the opportunity, had by this time gained a position besidehis horse. As he heard Patches tell how he had no actual evidence thatthe calf was not Nick Cambert's property, a look of anger and cunningdarkened the face of Nick's follower. He was angry at the way Patcheshad tricked him into betraying both himself and his evil master, and hesaw a way to defeat the two cowboys and at the same time win Nick'sapproval. Quickly the fellow mounted his horse, and, before they couldstop him, was out of sight in the timber. 

"I've done it now, " exclaimed Patches in dismay. "I forgot all aboutJoe. "

"I don't think he counts for much in this game anyway, " returned Phil, gruffly. 

As he spoke, the foreman turned his back to Patches and walked towardhis gun. He had reached the spot where the weapon lay on the ground, when, from the bushes to the right, and a little back of Patches, whostood watching his companion, a shot rang out with startling suddenness. 

Patches saw Phil stumble forward, straighten for an instant, as thoughby sheer power of his will, and, turning, look back at him. Then, asPhil fell, the unarmed cowboy leaped forward toward that gun on theground. Even as he moved, a second shot rang out and he felt the wind ofthe bullet on his cheek. With Phil's gun in his hand, he ran toward acedar tree on the side of the open space opposite the point from whichthe shots came, and as he ran another bullet whistled past. 

A man moving as Patches moved is not an easy mark. The same man armed, and protected by the trunk of a tree, is still more difficult. A momentafter he had gained cover, the cowboy heard the clatter of a horse'sfeet, near the spot from which the shots had come, and by the sound knewthat the unseen marksman had chosen to retire with only half his evidentpurpose accomplished, rather than take the risk that had arisen withPatches' success in turning the ambush into an open fight. 

As the sound of the horse's swift rush down the side of the ridge grewfainter and fainter, Patches ran to Phil. 

A quick examination told him that the bullet had entered just under theright shoulder, and that the man, though unconscious and, no doubt, seriously wounded, was living. 

With rude bandages made by tearing his shirt into strips Patches checkedthe flow of blood, and bound up the wound as best he could. Then for amoment he considered. It was between three and four miles to the ranch. He could ride there and back in a few minutes. Someone must start for adoctor without an instant's loss of time. With water, proper bandagesand stimulants, the wounded man could be cared for and moved in thebuckboard with much greater safety than he could be carried in hispresent condition on a horse. The risk of leaving him for a few minuteswas small, compared to the risk of taking him to the house under theonly conditions possible. The next instant Patches was in Phil's saddleand riding as he had never ridden before. 

Jim Reid, with Kitty and Helen, was on the way back from Prescott asKitty had planned. They were within ten miles of the ranch when thecattleman, who sat at the wheel of the automobile, saw a horseman comingtoward them. A moment he watched the approaching figure, then, over hisshoulder, he said to the girls, "Look at that fellow ride. There'ssomething doin', sure. " As he spoke he turned the machine well out ofthe road. 

A moment later he added, "It's Curly Elson from the Cross-Triangle. Somethin's happened in the valley. " As he spoke, he stopped the machine, and sprang out so that the cowboy could see and recognize him. 

Curly did not draw rein until he was within a few feet of Reid; then hebrought his running horse up with a suddenness that threw the animal onits haunches. 

Curly spoke tersely. "Phil Acton is shot. We need a doctor quick. "

Without a word Jim Reid leaped into the automobile. The car backed toturn around. As it paused an instant before starting forward again, Kitty put her hand on her father's shoulder. 

"Wait!" she cried. "I'm going to Phil. Curly, I want your horse; you cango with father. "

The cowboy was on the ground before she had finished speaking. Andbefore the automobile was under way Kitty was riding back the way Curlyhad come. 

Kitty was scarcely conscious of what she had said. The cowboy's firstwords had struck her with the force of a physical blow, and in thatfirst moment, she had been weak and helpless. She had felt as though aheavy weight pressed her down; a gray mist was before her eyes, and shecould not see clearly. "Phil Acton is shot--Phil Acton is shot!" Thecowboy's words had repeated themselves over and over. Then, with asudden rush, her strength came again--the mist cleared; she must go toPhil; she must go fast, fast. Oh, why was this horse so slow! If onlyshe were riding her own Midnight! She did not think as she rode. She didnot wonder, nor question, nor analyze her emotions. She only felt. Itwas Phil who was hurt--Phil, the boy with whom she had played when shewas a little girl--the lad with whom she had gone to school--the youngman who had won the first love of her young woman heart. It was Phil, her Phil, who was hurt, and she must go to him--she must go fast, fast!

It seemed to Kitty that hours passed before she reached the meadow lane. She was glad that Curly had left the gates open. As she crossed thefamiliar ground between the old Acton home and the ranch house on theother side of the sandy wash, she saw them. They were carrying him intothe house as she rode into the yard, and at sight of that still form thegray mist came again, and she caught the saddle horn to save herselffrom falling. But it was only a moment until she was strong again, andready to do all that Mrs. Baldwin asked. 

Phil had regained consciousness before they started home with him, buthe was very weak from the loss of blood and the journey in thebuckboard, though Bob drove ever so carefully, was almost more than hecould bear. But with the relief that came when he was at last lyingquietly in his own bed, and with the help of the stimulant, the splendidphysical strength and vitality that was his because of his natural andunspoiled life again brought him back from the shadows into the light offull consciousness. 

It was then that the Dean, while Mrs. Baldwin and Kitty were occupiedfor a few moments in another part of the house, listened to all that hisforeman could tell him about the affair up to the time that he hadfallen unconscious. The Dean asked but few questions. But when thedetails were all clearly fixed in his mind, the older man bent over Philand looked straight into the lad's clear and steady eyes, while he askedin a low tone, "Phil, did Patches do this?"

And the young man answered, "Uncle Will, I don't know. "

With this he closed his eyes wearily, as though to sleep, and the Dean, seeing Kitty in the doorway, beckoned her to come and sit beside thebed. Then he stole quietly from the room. 

As in a dream Phil had seen Kitty when she rode into the yard. And hehad been conscious of her presence as she moved about the house and theroom where he lay. But he had given no sign that he knew she was there. As she seated herself, at the Dean's bidding, the cowboy opened his eyesfor a moment, and looked up into her face. Then again the weary lidsclosed, and he gave no hint that he recognized her, save that the whitelips set in firmer lines as though at another stab of pain. 

As she watched alone beside this man who had, since she could remember, been a part of her life, and as she realized that he was on the veryborder line of that land from which, if he entered, he could neverreturn to her, Kitty Reid knew the truth that is greater than anyknowledge that the schools of man can give. She knew the one great truthof her womanhood; knew it not from text book or class room; not fromlearned professor or cultured associates; but knew it from that goodMaster of Life who, with infinite wisdom, teaches his many pupils whoare free to learn in the school of schools, the School of Nature. Inthat hour when the near presence of death so overshadowed all thetrivial and non-essential things of life--when the little standards andpetty values of poor human endeavor were as nothing--this woman knewthat by the unwritten edict of God, who decreed that in all life twoshould be as one, this man was her only lawful mate. Environment, circumstance, that which we call culture and education, even death, might separate them; but nothing could nullify the fact that wasattested by the instinct of her womanhood. Bending over the man who layso still, she whispered the imperative will of her heart. 

"Come back to me, Phil--I want you--I need you, dear--come back to me!"

Slowly he came out of the mists of weakness and pain to look up ather--doubtfully--wonderingly. But there was a light in Kitty's face thatdispelled the doubt, and changed the look of wondering uncertainty toglad conviction. He did not speak. No word was necessary. Nor did hemove, for he must be very still, and hold fast with all his strength tothe life that was now so good. But the woman knew without words all thathe would have said, and as his eyes closed again she bowed her head inthankfulness. 

Then rising she stole softly to the window. She felt that she must lookout for a moment into the world that was so suddenly new and beautiful. 

Under the walnut trees she saw the Dean talking with the man whom shehad promised to marry. 

Later Mr. Reid, with Helen and Curly, brought the doctor, and the noiseof the automobile summoned every soul on the place to wait for thephysician's verdict of life or death. 

While the Dean was in Phil's room with the physician, and the anxiousones were gathered in a little group in front of the house, Jim Reidstood apart from the others talking in low tones with the cowboy Bob. Patches, who was standing behind the automobile, heard Bob, who hadraised his voice a little, say distinctly, "I tell you, sir, there ain'ta bit of doubt in the world about it. There was the calf a layin' rightthere fresh-branded and marked. He'd plumb forgot to turn it loose, Ireckon, bein' naturally rattled; or else he figgered that it warn't nouse, if Phil should be able to tell what happened. The way I make it outis that Phil jumped him right in the act, so sudden that he shot withoutthinkin'; you know how he acts quick that-a-way. An' then he seen whathe had done, an' that it was more than an even break that Phil wouldn'tlive, an' so figgered that his chance was better to stay an' run a bluffby comin' for help, an' all that. If he'd tried to make his get-away, there wouldn't 'a' been no question about it; an' he's got just nerveenough to take the chance he's a-takin' by stayin' right with the game. "

Patches started as though to go toward the men, but at that moment thedoctor came from the house. As the physician approached the waitinggroup, that odd, mirthless, self-mocking smile touched Patches' lips;then he stepped forward to listen with the others to the doctor's words. 

Phil had a chance, the doctor said, but he told them frankly that it wasonly a chance. The injured man's wonderful vitality, his clean blood andunimpaired physical strength, together with his unshaken nerve and anindomitable will, were all greatly in his favor. With careful nursingthey might with reason hope for his recovery. 

With expressions of relief, the group separated. Patches walked awayalone. Mr. Reid, who would return to Prescott with the doctor, said tohis daughter when the physician was ready, "Come, Kitty, I'll go by thehouse, so as to take you and Mrs. Manning home. "

But Kitty shook her head. "No, father. I'm not going home. Stella needsme here. Helen understands, don't you, Helen?"

And wise Mrs. Manning, seeing in Kitty's face something that the man hadnot observed, answered, "Yes, dear, I do understand. You must stay, ofcourse. I'll run over again in the morning. "

"Very well, " answered Mr. Reid, who seemed in somewhat of a hurry. "Iknow you ought to stay. Tell Stella that mother will be over for alittle while this evening. " And the automobile moved away. 

That night, while Mrs. Baldwin and Kitty watched by Phil's bedside, andPatches, in his room, waited, sleepless, alone with his thoughts, menfrom the ranch on the other side of the quiet meadow were riding swiftlythrough the darkness. Before the new day had driven the stars from thewide sky, a little company of silent, grim-faced horsemen gathered inthe Pot-Hook-S corral. In the dim, gray light of the early morning theyfollowed Jim Reid out of the corral, and, riding fast, crossed thevalley above the meadows and approached the Cross-Triangle corrals fromthe west. One man in the company led a horse with an empty saddle. Justbeyond the little rise of ground outside the big gate they halted, whileJim Reid with two others, leaving their horses with the silent ridersbehind the hill, went on into the corral, where they seated themselveson the edge of the long watering trough near the tank, which hid themfrom the house. 

Fifteen minutes later, when the Dean stepped from the kitchen porch, hesaw Curly running toward the house. As the older man hurried toward him, the cowboy, pale with excitement and anger, cried, "They've got him, sir--grabbed him when he went out to the corral. "

The Dean understood instantly. "My horse, quick, Curly, " he said, andhurried on toward the saddle shed. "Which way did they go?" he asked, ashe mounted. 

"Toward the cedars on the ridge where it happened, " came the answer. "Doyou want me?"

"No. Don't let them know in the house, " came the reply. And the Dean wasgone. 

The little company of horsemen, with Patches in their midst, had reachedthe scene of the shooting, and had made their simple preparations. Fromthat moment when they had covered him with their guns as he steppedthrough the corral gate, he had not spoken. 

"Well, sir, " said the spokesman, "have you anything to say before weproceed?"

Patches shook his head, and wonderingly they saw that curious mockingsmile on his lips. 

"I don't suppose that any remarks I might make would impress yougentlemen in the least, " he said coolly. "It would be useless and unkindfor me to detain you longer than is necessary. "

An involuntary murmur of admiration came from the circle. They were menwho could appreciate such unflinching courage. 

In the short pause that followed, the Dean, riding as he had not riddenfor years, was in their midst. Before they could check him the veterancowman was beside Patches. With a quick motion he snatched the riatafrom the cowboy's neck. An instant more, and he had cut the rope thatbound Patches' hands. 

"Thank you, sir, " said Patches calmly. 

"Don't do that, Will, " called Jim Reid peremptorily. "This is ourbusiness. " In the same breath he shouted to his companions, "Take himagain, boys, " and started forward. 

"Stand where you are, " roared the Dean, and as they looked upon thestern countenance of the man who was so respected and loved throughoutall that country, not a man moved. Reid himself involuntarily halted atthe command. 

"I'll do this and more, Jim Reid, " said the Dean firmly, and there wasthat in his voice which, in the wild days of the past, had compelledmany a man to fear and obey him. "It's my business enough that you cancall this meetin' off right here. I'll be responsible for this man. Youboys mean well, but you're a little mite too previous this trip. "

"We aim to put a stop to that thievin' Tailholt Mountain outfit, Will, "returned Reid, "an' we're goin' to do it right now. "

A murmur of agreement came from the group. 

The Dean did not give an inch. "You'll put a stop to nothin' this way;an' you'll sure start somethin' that'll be more than stealin' a fewcalves. The time for stringin' men up promiscuous like, on meresuspicion, is past in Arizona. I reckon there's more Cross-Trianglestock branded with the Tailholt Mountain iron than all the rest of youput together have lost, which sure entitles me to a front seat when itcomes, to the show-down. "

"He's right, boys, " said one of the older men. 

"You know I'm right, Tom, " returned the Dean quickly. "You an' me havelived neighbors for pretty near thirty years, without ever a hard wordpassed between us, an' we've been through some mighty serious troublestogether; an' you, too, George, an' Henry an' Bill. The rest of you boysI have known since you was little kids; an' me and your daddies workedan' fought side by side for decent livin' an' law-abidin' times beforeyou was born. We did it 'cause we didn't want our children to go throughwith what we had to go through, or do some of the things that we had todo. An' now you're all thinkin' that you can cut me out of this. Youthink you can sneak out here before I'm out of my bed in the mornin', an' hang one of my own cowboys--as good a man as ever throwed a rope, too. Without sayin' a word to me, you come crawlin' right into my owncorral, an' start to raisin' hell. I'm here to tell you that you can'tdo it. You can't do it because I won't let you. "

The men, with downcast eyes, sat on their horses, ashamed. Two or threemuttered approval. Jim Reid said earnestly, "That's all right, Will. Weknew how you would feel, an' we were just aimin' to save you any moretrouble. Them Tailholt Mountain thieves have gone too far this time. Wecan't let you turn that man loose. "

"I ain't goin' to try to turn him loose, " retorted the Dean. 

The men looked at each other. 

"What are you goin' to do, then?" asked the spokesman. 

"I'm goin' to make you turn him loose, " came the startling answer. "Youfellows took him; you've got to let him go. "

In spite of the grave situation several of the men grinned at the Dean'sanswer--it was so like him. 

"I'll bet a steer he does it, too, " whispered one. 

The Dean turned to the man by his side. "Patches, tell these men allthat you told me about this business. "

When the cowboy had told his story in detail, up to the point where Philcame upon the scene, the Dean interrupted him, "Now, get down there an'show us exactly how it happened after Phil rode on to you an' YavapaiJoe. "

Patches obeyed. As he was showing them where Phil stood when the shotwas fired the Dean again interrupted with, "Wait a minute. Tom, you getdown there an' stand just as Phil was standin'. "

The cattleman obeyed. 

When he had taken the position, the Dean continued, "Now, Patches, stand like you was when Phil was hit. "

Patches obeyed. 

"Now, then, where did that shot come from?" asked the Dean. 

Patches pointed. 

The Dean did not need to direct the next step in his demonstration. Three of the men were already off their horses, and moving around thebushes indicated by Patches. 

"Here's the tracks, all right, " called one. "An' here, " added another, from a few feet further away, "was where he left his horse. "

"An' now, " continued the Dean, when the three men had come back frombehind the bushes, and with Patches had remounted their horses, "I'lltell you somethin' else. I had a talk with Phil himself, an' the boy'sstory agrees with what Patches has just told you in every point. An', furthermore, Phil told me straight when I asked him that he didn't knowhimself who fired that shot. "

He paused for a moment for them to grasp the full import of his words. Then he summed up the case. 

"As the thing stands, we've got no evidence against anybody. It can't beproved that the calf wasn't Nick's property in the first place. It can'tbe proved that Nick was anywhere in the neighborhood. It can't be provedwho fired that shot. It could have been Yavapai Joe, or anybody else, just as well as Nick. Phil himself, by bein' too quick to jump atconclusions, blocked this man's game, just when he was playin' the onlyhand that could have won out against Nick. If Phil hadn't 'a' happenedon to Patches and Joe when he did, or if he had been a little slowerabout findin' a man guilty just because appearances were against him, we'd 'a' had the evidence from Yavapai Joe that we've been wantin', an'could 'a' called the turn on that Tailholt outfit proper. As it standsnow, we're right where we was before. Now, what are you all goin' to doabout it?"

The men grinned shamefacedly, but were glad that the tragedy had beenaverted. They were by no means convinced that Patches was not guilty, but they were quick to see the possibilities of a mistake in thesituation. 

"I reckon the Dean has adjourned the meetin', boys, " said one. 

"Come on, " called another. "Let's be ridin'. "

When the last man had disappeared in the timber, the Dean wiped theperspiration from his flushed face, and looked at Patches thoughtfully. Then that twinkle of approval came into the blue eyes, that a fewmoments before had been so cold and uncompromising. 

"Come, son, " he said gently, "let's go to breakfast. Stella'll bewonderin' what's keepin' us. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SKY LINE. 

Before their late breakfast was over at the Cross-Triangle Ranch, HelenManning came across the valley meadows to help with the work of thehousehold. Jimmy brought her, but when she saw that she was reallyneeded, and that Mrs. Baldwin would be glad of her help, she told Jimmythat she would stay for the day. Someone from the Cross-Triangle, theDean said, would take her home when she was ready to go. 

The afternoon was nearly gone when Curly returned from the lower end ofthe valley with a woman who would relieve Mrs. Baldwin of the housework, and, as her presence was no longer needed, Helen told the Dean that shewould return to the Reid home. 

"I'll just tell Patches to take you over in the buckboard, " said theDean. "It was mighty kind of you to give us a hand to-day; it's been abig help to Stella and Kitty. "

"Please don't bother about the buckboard, Mr. Baldwin. I would enjoy thewalk so much. But I would be glad if Mr. Patches could go with me--Iwould really feel safer, you know, " she smiled. 

Mrs. Baldwin was sleeping and Kitty was watching beside Phil, so theDean himself went as far as the wash with Helen and Patches, as the twoset out for their walk across the meadows. When Helen had said good-byto the Dean, with a promise to come again on the morrow, and he hadturned back toward the house, she said to her companion, "Oh, Larry, Iam so glad for this opportunity; I wanted to see you alone, and Icouldn't think how it was to be managed. I have something to tell you, Larry, something that I _must_ tell you, and you must promise to be verypatient with me. "

"You know what happened this morning, do you?" he asked gravely, for hethought from her words that she had, perhaps, chanced to hear of somefurther action to be taken by the suspicious cattlemen. 

"It was terrible--terrible, Larry. Why didn't you tell them who you are?Why did you let them--" she could not finish. 

He laughed shortly. "It would have been such a sinful waste of words. Can't you imagine me trying to make those men believe such a fairystory--under such circumstances?"

For a little they walked in silence; then he asked, "Is it about JimReid's suspicion that you wanted to see me, Helen?"

"No, Larry, it isn't. It's about Kitty, " she answered. 

"Oh!"

"Kitty told me all about it, to-day, " Helen continued. "The poor childis almost beside herself. "

The man did not speak. Helen looked up at him almost as a mother mighthave done. 

"Do you love her so very much, Larry? Tell me truly, do you?"

Patches could not--dared not--look at her. 

"Tell me, Larry, " she insisted gently. "I must know. Do you love Kittyas a man ought to love his wife?"

The man answered in a voice that was low and shaking with emotion. "Whyshould you ask me such a question? You know the answer. What right haveyou to force me to tell you that which you already know--that I loveyou--another man's wife?"

Helen's face went white. In her anxiety for Kitty she, had not foreseenthis situation in which, by her question, she had placed herself. 

"Larry!" she said sharply. 

"Well, " he retorted passionately, "you insisted that I tell you thetruth. "

"I insisted that you tell me the truth about Kitty, " she returned. 

"Well, you have it, " he answered quickly. 

"Oh, Larry, " she cried, "how could you--how could you ask a woman you donot love to be your wife? How could you do it, Larry? And just when Iwas so proud of you; so glad for you that you had found yourself; thatyou were such a splendid man!"

"Kitty and I are the best of friends, " he answered in a dull, spiritlesstone, "the best of companions. In the past year I have grown very fondof her--we have much in common. I can give her the life she desires--thelife she is fitted for. I will make her happy; I will be true to her; Iwill be to her everything that a man should be to his wife. "

"No, Larry, " she said gently, touched by the hopelessness in his voice, for he had spoken as though he already knew that his attempt to justifyhis engagement to Kitty was vain. "No, Larry, you cannot be to Kittyeverything that a man should be to his wife. You cannot, without love, be a husband to her. "

Again they walked in silence for a little way. Then Helen asked: "Andare you sure, Larry, that Kitty cares for you--as a woman ought to care, I mean?"

"I could not have asked her to be my wife if I had not thought so, " heanswered, with more spirit. 

"Of course, " returned his companion gently, "and Kitty could not haveanswered, 'yes, ' if she had not believed that you loved her. "

"Do you mean that you think Kitty does not care for me, Helen?"

"I _know_ that she loves Phil Acton, Larry. I saw it in her face when wefirst learned that he was hurt. And to-day the poor girl confessed it. She loved him all the time, Larry--has loved him ever since they wereboy and girl together. She has tried to deny her heart--she has tried toput other things above her love, but she knows now that she cannot. Itis fortunate for you both that she realized her love for Mr. Actonbefore she had spoiled not only her own life but yours as well. "

"But, how could she promise to be my wife when she loved Phil?" hedemanded. 

"But, how could you ask her when you--" Helen retorted quickly, withoutthinking of herself. Then she continued bravely, putting herself asidein her effort to make him understand. "You tempted her, Larry. You didnot mean it so, perhaps, but you did. You tempted her with yourwealth--with all that you could give her of material luxuries and easeand refinement. You tempted her to substitute those things for love. Iknow, Larry--I know, because you see, dear man, I was once tempted, too. "

He made a gesture of protest, but she went on, "You did not know, but Ican tell you now that nothing but the memory of my dear father'steaching saved me from a terrible mistake. You are a man now, Larry. Youare more to me than any man in the world, save one; and more than anyman in the world, save that one, I respect and admire you for themanhood you have gained. But oh, Larry, Larry, don't you see? _'When aman's a man'_ there is one thing above all others that he cannot do. Hecannot take advantage of a woman's weakness; he cannot tempt her beyondher strength; he must be strong both for himself and her; he must saveher always from herself. "

The man lifted his head and looked away toward Granite Mountain. As oncebefore this woman had aroused him to assert his manhood's strength, shecalled now to all that was finest and truest in the depth of his being. 

"You are always right, Helen, " he said, almost reverently. 

"No, Larry, " she answered quickly, "but you know that I am right inthis. "

"I will free Kitty from her promise at once, " he said, as though to endthe matter. 

Helen answered quickly. "But that is exactly what you must not do. "

The man was bewildered. "Why, I thought--what in the world do you mean?"

She laughed happily as she said, "Stupid Larry, don't you understand?You must make Kitty send you about your business. You must save herself-respect. Can't you see how ashamed and humiliated she would be ifshe imagined for a moment that you did not love her? Think what shewould suffer if she knew that you had merely tried to buy her with yourwealth and the things you possess!"

She disregarded his protest. 

"That's exactly what your proposal meant, Larry. A girl like Kitty, ifshe knew the truth of what she had done, might even fancy herselfunworthy to accept her happiness now that it has come. You must make herdismiss you, and all that you could give her. You must make her proudand happy to give herself to the man she loves. "

"But--what can I do?" he asked in desperation. 

"I don't know, Larry. But you must manage somehow--for Kitty's sake you_must_. "

"If only the Dean had not interrupted the proceedings this morning, howit would have simplified everything!" he mused, and she saw that asalways he was laughing at himself. 

"Don't, Larry; please don't, " she cried earnestly. 

He looked at her curiously. "Would you have me lie to her, Helen--deliberately lie?"

She answered quietly. "I don't think that I would raise that question, if I were you, Larry--considering all the circumstances. "

On his way back to the Cross-Triangle, Patches walked as a man who, having determined upon a difficult and distasteful task, is of a mind toundertake it without delay. 

After supper that evening he managed to speak to Kitty when no one wasnear. 

"I must see you alone for a few minutes to-night, " he whisperedhurriedly. "As soon as possible. I will be under the trees near the bankof the wash. Come to me as soon as it is dark, and you can slip away. "

The young woman wondered at his manner. He was so hurried, and appearedso nervous and unlike himself. 

"But, Patches, I--"

"You must!" he interrupted with a quick look toward the Dean, who wasapproaching them. "I have something to tell you--something that I musttell you to-night. "

He turned to speak to the Dean, and Kitty presently left them. An hourlater, when the night had come, she found him waiting as he had said. 

"Listen, Kitty!" he began abruptly, and she thought from his manner andthe tone of his voice that he was in a state of nervous fear. "I mustgo; I dare not stay here another day; I am going to-night. "

"Why, Patches, " she said, forcing herself to speak quietly in order tocalm him. "What is the matter?"

"Matter?" he returned hurriedly. "You know what they tried to do to methis morning. "

Kitty was shocked. It was true that she did not--could not--care forthis man as she loved Phil, but she had thought him her dearest friend, and she respected and admired him. It was not good to find him now likethis--shaken and afraid. She could not understand. For the moment herown trouble was put aside by her honest concern for him. 

"But, Patches, " she said earnestly, "that is all past now; it cannothappen again. "

"You do not know, " he returned, "or you would not feel so sure. Philmight--" He checked himself as if he feared to finish the sentence. 

Kitty thought now that there must be more cause for his manner than shehad guessed. 

"But you are not a cattle thief, " she protested. "You have only toexplain who you are; no one would for a moment believe that LawrenceKnight could be guilty of stealing; it's ridiculous on the face of it!"

"You do not understand, " he returned desperately. "There is more in thisthan stealing. "

Kitty started. "You don't mean, Patches--you can't mean--Phil--" shegasped. 

"Yes, I mean Phil, " he whispered. "I--we were quarreling--I was angry. My God! girl, don't you see why I must go? I dare not stay. Listen, Kitty! It will be all right. Once I am out of this country and livingunder my own name I will be safe. Later you can come to me. You willcome, won't you, dear? You know how I want you; this need make no changein our plans. If you love me you--"

She stopped him with a low cry. "And you--it was you who did that?"

"But I tell you we were quarreling, Kitty, " he protested weakly. 

"And you think that I could go to you now?" She was trembling withindignation. "Oh, you are so mistaken. It seems that I was mistaken, too. I never dreamed that you--nothing--nothing, that you could ever dowould make me forget what you have told me. You are right to go. "

"You mean that you will not come to me?" he faltered. 

"Could you really think that I would?" she retorted. 

"But, Kitty, you will let me go? You will not betray me? You will giveme a chance?"

"It is the only thing that I can do, " she answered coldly. "I should dieof shame, if it were ever known that I had thought of being more to youthan I have been; but you must go to-night. "

And with this she left him, fairly running toward the house. 

Alone in the darkness, Honorable Patches smiled mockingly to himself. 

When morning came there was great excitement at the Cross-TriangleRanch. Patches was missing. And more, the best horse in the Dean'soutfit--the big bay with the blazed face, had also disappeared. 

Quickly the news spread throughout the valley, and to the distantranches. And many were the wise heads that nodded understandingly; andmany were the "I told you so's. " The man who had appeared among them somysteriously, and who, for a year, had been a never-failing topic ofconversation, had finally established his character beyond all question. But the cattlemen felt with reason, because of the Dean's vigorousdefense of the man when they would have administered justice, that thematter was now in his hands. They offered their services, and muchadvice; they quietly joked about the price of horses; but the Deanlaughed at their jokes, listened to their advice, and said that hethought the sheriff of Yavapai County could be trusted to handle thecase. 

To Helen only Kitty told of her last interview with Patches. And Helen, shocked and surprised at the thoroughness with which the man had broughtabout Kitty's freedom and peace of mind, bade the girl forget and behappy. 

When the crisis was passed, and Phil was out of danger, Kitty returnedto her home, but every day she and Helen drove across the meadows to seehow the patient was progressing. Then one day Helen said good-by to herWilliamson Valley friends, and went with Stanford to the home he hadprepared for her. And after that Kitty spent still more of her time atthe house across the wash from the old Acton homestead. 

It was during those weeks of Phil's recovery, while he was slowlyregaining his full measure of health and strength, that Kitty learned toknow the cowboy in a way that she had never permitted herself to knowhim before. Little by little, as they sat together under the walnuttrees, or walked slowly about the place, the young woman came tounderstand the mind of the man. As Phil shyly at first, then morefreely, opened the doors of his inner self and talked to her as he hadtalked to Patches of the books he had read; of his observations andthoughts of nature, and of the great world movements and activities thatby magazines and books and papers were brought to his hand, she learnedto her surprise that even as he lived amid the scenes that called forthe highest type of physical strength and courage, he lived anintellectual life that was as marked for its strength and manly vigor. 

But while they came thus daily into more intimate and closercompanionship they spoke to no one of their love. Kitty, knowing how herfather would look upon her engagement to the cowboy, put off theannouncement from time to time, not wishing their happy companionship tobe marred during those days of Phil's recovery. 

When he was strong enough to ride again, Kitty would come with Midnight, and together they would roam about the ranch and the country near by. Soit happened that Sunday afternoon. Mr. And Mrs. Reid, with the threeboys, were making a neighborly call on the Baldwins, and Phil and Kittywere riding in the vicinity of the spot where Kitty had first metPatches. 

They were seated in the shade of a cedar on the ridge not far from thedrift fence gate, when Phil saw three horsemen approaching from thefurther side of the fence. By the time the horsemen had reached thegate, Phil knew them to be Yavapai Joe, Nick Cambert and HonorablePatches. Kitty, too, had, by this time, recognized the riders, and withan exclamation started to rise to her feet. 

But Phil said quietly, "Wait, Kitty; there's something about that outfitthat looks mighty queer to me. "

The men were riding in single file, with Yavapai Joe in the lead andPatches last, and their positions were not changed when they haltedwhile Joe, without dismounting, unlatched the gate. They came throughthe opening, still in the same order, and as they halted again, whilePatches closed the gate, Phil saw what it was that caused them to movewith such apparent lack of freedom in their relative positions, and whyNick Cambert's attitude in the saddle was so stiff and unnatural. Nick'shands were secured behind his back, and his feet were tied under thehorse from stirrup to stirrup, while his horse was controlled by a leadrope, one end of which was made fast to Yavapai Joe's saddle horn. 

Patches caught sight of the two under the tree as he came through thegate, but he gave no sign that he had noticed them. As the littleprocession moved slowly nearer, Phil and Kitty looked at each otherwithout a word, but as they turned again to watch the approachinghorsemen, Kitty impulsively grasped Phil's arm. And sitting so, in suchunconscious intimacy, they must have made a pleasing picture; at leastthe man who rode behind Nick Cambert seemed to think so, for he wastrying to smile. 

When the riders were almost within speaking distance of the pair underthe tree, they stopped; and the watchers saw Joe turn his face towardPatches for a moment, then look in their direction. Nick Cambert did notraise his head. Patches came on toward them alone. 

As they saw that it was the man's purpose to speak to them, Phil andKitty rose and stood waiting, Kitty with her hand still on hercompanion's arm. And now, as they were given a closer and lessobstructed view of the man who had been their friend, Kitty and Philagain exchanged wondering glances. This was not the Honorable Patcheswhom they had known so intimately. The man's clothing was soiled withdirt, and old from rough usage, with here and there a ragged tear. Histall form drooped with weariness, and his unshaven face, dark and deeplytanned, and grimed with sweat and dirt, was thin and drawn and old, andhis tired eyes, deep set in their dark hollows, were bloodshot as thoughfrom sleepless nights. His dry lips parted in a painful smile, as hedismounted stiffly and limped courteously forward to greet them. 

"I know that I am scarcely presentable, " he said in a voice that was asworn and old as his face, "but I could not resist the temptation to say'Howdy'. Perhaps I should introduce myself though, " he added, as if tosave them from embarrassment. "My name is Lawrence Knight; I am a deputysheriff of this county. " A slight movement as he spoke threw back hisunbuttoned jumper, and they saw the badge of his office. "In my officialcapacity I am taking a prisoner to Prescott. "

Phil recovered first, and caught the officer's hand in a grip that toldmore than words. 

Kitty nearly betrayed her secret when she gasped, "But you--you saidthat you--"

With his ready skill he saved her, "That my name was Patches? I know itwas wrong to deceive you as I did, and I regret that it was necessaryfor me to lie so deliberately, but the situation seemed to demand it. And I hoped that when you understood you would forgive the part I wasforced to play for the good of everyone interested. "

Kitty understood the meaning in his words that was unknown to Phil, andher eyes expressed the gratitude that she could not speak. 

"By the way, " Patches continued, "I am not mistaken in offering mycongratulations and best wishes, am I?"

They laughed happily. 

"We have made no announcement yet, " Phil answered, "but you seem to knoweverything. "

"I feel like saying from the bottom of my heart 'God bless you, mychildren. ' You make me feel strangely old, " he returned, with a touch ofhis old wistfulness. Then he added in his droll way, "Perhaps, though, it's from living in the open and sleeping in my clothes so long. Talkabout horses, I'd give my kingdom for a bath, a shave and a clean shirt. I had begun to think that our old friend Nick never would brand anothercalf; that he had reformed, just to get even with me, you know. By theway, Phil, you will be interested to know that Nick is the man who isreally responsible for your happiness. "

"How?" demanded Phil. 

"Why, it was Nick who fired the shot that brought Kitty to her senses. My partner there, Yavapai Joe, saw him do it. If you people would liketo thank my prisoner, I will permit it. "

When they had decided that they would deny themselves that pleasure, Patches said, "I don't blame you; he's a surly, ill-tempered beast, anyway. Which reminds me that I must be about my official business, andland him in Prescott to-night. I am going to stop at the ranch and askthe Dean for the team and buckboard, though, " he added, as he climbedpainfully into the saddle. "Adios! my children. Don't stay out toolate. "

Hand in hand they watched him rejoin his companions and ride away behindthe two Tailholt Mountain men. 

The Dean and Mrs. Baldwin, with their friends from the neighboringranch, were enjoying their Sunday afternoon together as old friendswill, when the three Reid boys and Little Billy came running from thecorral where they had been holding an amateur bronco riding contest witha calf for the wild and wicked outlaw. As they ran toward the groupunder the walnut trees, the lads disturbed the peaceful conversation oftheir elders with wild shouts of "Patches has come back! Patches hascome back! Nick Cambert is with him--so's Yavapai Joe!"

Jim Reid sprang to his feet. But the Dean calmly kept his seat, andglancing up at his big friend with twinkling eyes, said to the boys, with pretended gruffness, "Aw, what's the matter with you kids? Don'tyou know that horse thief Patches wouldn't dare show himself inWilliamson Valley again? You're havin' bad dreams--that's what's thematter with you. Or else you're tryin' to scare us. "

"Honest, it's Patches, Uncle Will, " cried Littly Billy. 

"We seen him comin' from over beyond the corral, " said Jimmy. 

"I saw him first, " shouted Conny. "I was up in the grand stand--I meanon the fence. "

"Me, too, " chirped Jack. 

Jim Reid stood looking toward the corral. "The boys are right, Will, " hesaid in a low tone. "There they come now. "

As the three horsemen rode into the yard, and the watchers noted thepeculiarity of their companionship, Jim Reid muttered something underhis breath. But the Dean, as he rose leisurely to his feet, was smilingbroadly. 

The little procession halted when the horses evidenced their dislike ofthe automobile, and Patches came stiffly forward on foot. Lifting hisbattered hat courteously to the company, he said to the Dean, "I havereturned your horse, sir. I'm very much obliged to you. I think you willfind him in fairly good condition. "

Jim Reid repeated whatever it was that he had muttered to himself. 

The Dean chuckled. "Jim, " he said to the big cattleman, "I want tointroduce my friend, Mr. Lawrence Knight, one of Sheriff Gordon'sdeputies. It looks like he had been busy over in the Tailholt Mountainneighborhood. "

The two men shook hands silently. Mrs. Reid greeted the officercordially, while Mrs. Baldwin, to the Dean's great delight, demonstratedher welcome in the good old-fashioned mother way. 

"Will Baldwin, I could shake you, " she cried, as Patches stood, a littleconfused by her impulsive greeting. "Here you knew all the time; and youkept pesterin' me by trying to make me believe that you thought he hadrun away because he was a thief!"

It was, perhaps, the proudest moment of the Dean's life when he admittedthat Patches had confided in him that morning when they were so late tobreakfast. And how he had understood that the man's disappearance andthe pretense of stealing a horse had been only a blind. The good Deannever dreamed that there was so much more in Honorable Patches' strategythan he knew!

"Mr. Baldwin, " said Patches presently, "could you let me have the teamand buckboard? I want to get my prisoners to Prescott to-night, and"--helaughed shortly--"well, I certainly would appreciate those cushions. "

"Sure, son, you can have the whole Cross-Triangle outfit, if you wantit, " answered the Dean. "But hold on a minute. " He turned with twinklingeyes to his neighbor. "Here's Jim with a perfectly good automobile thatdon't seem to be busy. "

The big man responded cordially. "Why, of course; I'll be glad to takeyou in. "

"Thank you, " returned Patches. "I'll be ready in a minute. "

"But you're goin' to have something to eat first, " cried Mrs. Baldwin. "I'll bet you're half starved; you sure look it. "

Patches shook his head. "Don't tempt me, mother; I can't stop now. "

"But you'll come back home to-night, won't you?" she asked anxiously. 

"I would like to, " he said. "And may I bring a friend?"

"Your friends are our friends, son, " she answered. 

"Of course he's comin' back, " said the Dean. "Where else would he go, I'd like to know?"

They watched him as he went to his prisoner, and as, unlocking thehandcuff that held Nick's right wrist, he re-locked it on his own leftarm, thus linking his prisoner securely to himself. Then he spoke toJoe, and the young man, dismounting, unfastened the rope that boundNick's feet. When Nick was on the ground the three came toward themachine. 

"I am afraid I must ask you to let someone take care of the horses, "called Patches to the Dean. 

"I'll look after them, " the Dean returned. "Don't forget now that you'recomin' back to-night; Jim will bring you. "

Jim Reid, as the three men reached the automobile, said to Patches, "Will you take both of your prisoners in the back seat with you, orshall I take one of them in front with me?"

Patches looked the big man straight in the eyes, and they heard himanswer with significant emphasis, as he placed his free hand on YavapaiJoe's shoulder, "I have only one prisoner, Mr. Reid. This man is myfriend. He will take whatever seat he prefers. "

Yavapai Joe climbed into the rear seat with the officer and hisprisoner. 

It was after dark when Mr. Reid returned to the ranch with Patches andJoe. 

"You will find your room all ready, son, " said Mrs. Baldwin, "andthere's plenty of hot water in the bathroom tank for you both. Joe cantake the extra bed in Curly's room. You show him. I'll have your supperas soon as you are ready. "

Patches almost fell asleep at the table. As soon as they had finished hewent to his bed, where he remained, as Phil reported at intervals duringthe next forenoon, "dead to the world, " until dinner time. In theafternoon they gathered under the walnut trees--the Cross-Trianglehousehold and the friends from the neighboring ranch--and Patches toldthem his story; how, when he had left the ranch that night, he hadridden straight to his old friend Stanford Manning; and how Stanford hadgone with him to the sheriff, where, through Manning's influence, together with the letter which Patches had brought from the Dean, he hadbeen made an officer of the law. As he told them briefly of his days andnights alone, they needed no minute details to understand what it hadmeant to him. 

"It wasn't the work of catching Nick in a way to ensure his convictionthat I minded, " he said, "but the trouble was, that while I was watchingNick day and night, and dodging him all the time, I was afraid someenthusiastic cow-puncher would run on to me and treat himself to a shotjust for luck. Not that I would have minded that so much, either, afterthe first week, " he added in his droll way, "but considering all thecircumstances it would have been rather a poor sort of finish. "

"And what about Yavapai Joe?" asked Phil. 

Patches smiled. "Where is Joe? What's he been doing all day?"

The Dean answered. "He's just been moseyin' around. I tried to get himto talk, but all he would say was that he'd rather let Mr. Knight tellit. "

"Billy, " said Patches, "will you find Yavapai Joe, and tell him that Iwould like to see him here?"

When Little Billy, with the assistance of Jimmy and Conny and Jack, hadgone proudly on his mission, Patches said to the others, "Technically, of course, Joe is my prisoner until after the trial, but please don'tlet him feel it. He will be the principal witness for the state. "

When Yavapai Joe appeared, embarrassed and ashamed in their presence, Patches said, as courteously as he would have introduced an equal, "Joe, I want my friends to know your real name. There is no better place inthe world than right here to start that job of man-making that we havetalked about. You remember that I told you how I started here. "

Yavapai Joe lifted his head and stood straighter by his tall friend'sside, and there was a new note in his voice as he answered, "Whateveryou say goes, Mr. Knight. "

Patches smiled. "Friends, this is Mr. Joseph Parkhill, the only son ofthe distinguished Professor Parkhill, whom you all know so well. "

If Patches had planned to enjoy the surprise his words caused, he couldnot have been disappointed. 

Presently, when Joe had slipped away again, Patches told them how, because of his interest in the young man, and because of the lad'sstrange knowledge of Professor Parkhill, he had written east for thedistinguished scholar's history. 

"The professor himself was not really so much to blame, " said Patches. "It seems that he was born to an intellectual life. The poor fellownever had a chance. Even as a child he was exhibited as a prodigy--ashining example of the possibilities of the race, you know. His father, who was also a professor of some sort, died when he was a baby. Hismother, unfortunately, possessed an income sufficient to make itunnecessary that Everard Charles should ever do a day's real work. Atthe age of twenty, he was graduated from college; at the age oftwenty-one he was married to--or perhaps it would be more accurate tosay--he was married _by_--his landlady's daughter. Quite likely thewoman was ambitious to break into that higher life to which theprofessor aspired, and caught her cultured opportunity in an unguardedmoment. The details are not clear. But when their only child, Joe, wassix years old, the mother ran away with a carpenter who had been at workon the house for some six weeks. A maiden aunt of some fifty years, whowas a worshiper of the professor's cult, came to keep his house and totrain Joe in the way that good boys should go. 

"But the lad proved rather too great a burden, and when he was thirteenthey sent him to a school out here in the West, ostensibly for thebenefit of the climate. The boy, it was said, being of abnormalmentality, needed to pursue his studies under the most favorablephysical conditions. The professor, unhampered by his offspring, continued to climb his aesthetic ladder to intellectual and culturedglory. The boy in due time escaped from the school, and was educated bythe man Dryden and Nick Cambert. "

"And what will become of him now?" asked the Dean. 

Patches smiled. "Why, the lad is twenty-one now, and we have agreed thatit is about time that he began to make a man of himself--I can help hima little, perhaps--I have been trying occasionally the past year. Butyou see the conditions have not been altogether favorable to theexperiment. It should be easy from now on. "

During the time that intervened before the trial of the TailholtMountain man, Phil and Patches re-established that intimate friendshipof those first months of their work together. Then came the evening whenPhil went across the meadow to ask Jim Reid for his daughter. 

The big cattleman looked at his young neighbor with frowningdisapproval. 

"It won't do, Phil, " he said at last. "I'm Kitty's father, and it's upto me to look out for her interests. You know how I've educated her forsomething better than this life. She may think now that she is willin'to throw it all away, but I know better. The time would come when shewould be miserable. It's got to be somethin' more than a commoncow-puncher for Kitty, Phil, and that's the truth. "

The cowboy did not argue. "Do I understand that your only objection isbased upon the business in which I am engaged?" he asked coolly. 

Jim laughed. "The _business_ in which you are engaged? Why, boy, yousound like a first national bank. If you had any business of yourown--if you was the owner of an outfit, an' could give Kittythe--well--the things her education has taught her to need, it would bedifferent. I know you're a fine man, all right, but you're only a poorcow-puncher just the same. I'm speakin' for your own good, Phil, as wellas for Kitty's, " he added, with an effort at kindliness. 

"Then, if I had a good business, it would be different?"

"Yes, son, it would sure make all the difference in the world. "

"Thank you, " said the cowboy quietly, as he handed Mr. Reid a very legallooking envelope. "I happen to be half owner of this ranch and outfit. With my own property, it makes a fairly good start for a man of my age. My partner, Mr. Lawrence Knight, leaves the active management wholly inmy hands; and he has abundant capital to increase our holdings andenlarge our operations just as fast as we can handle the business. "

The big man looked from the papers to the lad, then back to the papers. Then a broad smile lighted his heavy face, as he said, "I give itup--you win. You young fellers are too swift for me. I've been wantin'to retire anyway. " He raised his voice and called, "Kitty--oh, Kitty!"

The girl appeared in the doorway. 

"Come and get him, " said Reid. "I guess he's yours. "

Helen Manning was sitting on the front porch of that little cottage onthe mountain side where she and Stanford began their years ofhome-building. A half mile below she could see the mining buildings thatwere grouped about the shaft in picturesque disorder. Above, thetree-clad ridge rose against the sky. It was too far from the greatworld of cities, some would have said, but Helen did not find it so. With her books and her music, and the great out-of-doors; and with thecompanionship of her mate and the dreams they dreamed together, herwoman heart was never lonely. 

She lowered the book she was reading, and looked through the open windowto the clock in the living-room. A little while, and she would go downthe hill to Stanford, for they loved to walk home together. Then, beforelifting the printed page again, she looked over the wide view of ruggedmountain sides and towering peaks that every day held for her some newbeauty. She had resumed her reading when the sound of horses' feetattracted her attention. 

Patches and Yavapai Joe were riding up the hill. 

They stopped at the gate, and while Joe held Stranger's bridle rein, Patches came to Helen as she stood on the porch waiting to receive him. 

"Surely you will stay for the night, " she urged when they had exchangedgreetings, and had talked for a little while. 

"No, " he answered quietly. "I just came this way to say good-by; Istopped for a few minutes with Stan at the office. He said I would findyou here. "

"But where are you going?" she asked. 

Smiling he waved his hand toward the mountain ridge above. "Just overthe sky line, Helen. "

"But, Larry, you will come again? You won't let us lose you altogether?"

"Perhaps--some day, " he said. 

"And who is that with you?"

"Just a friend who cares to go with me. Stan will tell you. "

"Oh, Larry, Larry! What a man you are!" she cried proudly, as he stoodbefore her holding out his hand. 

"If you think so, Helen, I am glad, " he answered, and turned away. 

So she watched him go. Sitting there at home, she watched him ride upthe winding road. Now he was in full view on some rocky shoulder of themountain--now some turn carried him behind a rocky point--again sheglimpsed him through the trees--again he was lost to her in the shadows. At last, for a moment, he stood out boldly against the wide-archedsky--and then he had passed from sight--over the sky line, as he hadsaid. 

THE END