Cow-Country

ld that was beautiful. From the time when he first heard Little Lost mentioned, he had felt a vague regret that chance had not led him there instead

Lost. He knew, from careless remarks made in his presence, that the mail came to Little Lost, and that there was some sort of store where certain everyday necessities were kept, for whi

se. Again his trained instinct served him faithfully. He had a very good general idea of Burroback Valley, he knew that the Muleshoe o

in its journey down the valley. He forded that with a great splashing, climbed the farther bank, followed a stubby, rocky bit of road that wound through dense willow and cottonwood growth, came out into

the hint and left his horses there. From the wisps of fresh hay strewn along the road, Bud knew that haying had begun at Little Lost. There were at least four cabins and a somewhat pretentious, story-and-a-half log house with vin

rs itched to reset that door, just as he would have done for his mother-supposing his mother would have tolerated the slamming which had brought the need. Bud lifted his gloved knuckles to kno

oor, pushed it wide open and permitted it to fly shut with a bang. Whereupon a girl

the counter and asked if there was any

o shuffle a handful of letters. Bud employed the time

ile would mean. The beginning hinted at things. It was as if she doubted the reality of the name he gave, and meant to conceal her doubt, or had h

the counter. She looked at him and again her lips turned at

s this noon again. Do you want yours sent out t

ere I could find the boss?" Bud was glancing often at her hands. For a ranch girl her hands we

He's out in the meadow with the

lingered awhile, leaning with his elbows on the counter near her; and by those obscure little conversational trails known to youth, he progress

ankee, and she lived with her uncle, Dave Truman, who owned Little Lost ranch, and took care of the mail for him, and attended to the

omething to do with Sunk Creek losing itself in The Sinks. There was a Little Lost river, farther acr

ersely Bud declined to become confidential,

quainted with everybody-if you go. There'll be good music, I guess. Uncle Dave wrote

e said that if Bobbie Burns had asked him "Should auld acquaintance be forgot," he'd have told him yes, and he'd have made it good

nce from under her lashes, and B

horses with me. Will it be all right to turn them in the corral? I hate to ha

keep people here-just for accommodation. There has to be some place in the valley where folks can stop. I can't promise that uncle will g

ing him as he came past the house with the horses, and she

no. My goodness, you must be a whole orchestra! If you can play, maybe you and I can furnish the music for the

ed the cases, and he could have sworn that he saw her signal someone behind the lace curtains of the nearest window. He glanced carelessly that way, but the

ainst a thick fringe of brush, and when Bud rode by he left his work and came after him, taking sho

e the feebleness of his body. He showed Bud where to turn the horses, and went to work on the pack rope, his crooked old fingers moving with the sureness of lifelong habit. He was eager to know

ore hands full, young man," he commented

n't of licked Dirk, you wouldn't of got fired," he retorted, and proceeded to relate a good deal of harmless gossip which seemed

ous. A good deal of information Bud received while the tw

lly, with those caressing smoothings of mane and

eek-bed up here a piece that has been cleaned of rocks fer a mile track, and they're goin' to run a horse er two. Most generally they do, on Sunday, if work's slack. You might git in on it,

n that horse myself," he observed, "if you say he kin run. You

t rolled. "No, I won't lie to you, dad,"

he run? I want

een able to turn a cow,"

n teetering from his toes to his heels, an

once or twice for fun, just trying to

spat angrily into the dust of the corral. Then he thoug

him surprised, seemed about to say more,

gure to make him bring yuh in something-if it ain't no more'n a quarter! Make him BRING yuh a little something. That's the way to do with everything yuh turn a hand to; make it bring yuh in something! It ain't what goes out that'll do yuh any good-it's what

houlders sag forward. He waggled his head and muttered

uarters, an' I'd of had a few dollars now of my own. Uh course," he made haste to add, "I git holt of a little, now a

, felt for imperfections and straightened painfully, slapped the horse approvingly

say you throw yore saddle on this horse and take 'im up to the track? I'd l

ot my stake to make, and I want to make it before all my teeth fall out so I can't chew anything but the

n ain't too old to have his little joke-and make it bring him in something, by Christmas! Y

slip him out and up the creektrail to the track, and you run that horse of yourn agin him. Dave, he can't git a race outa nobody around here, no more, so he won't run next Sunday.

oath on a Bible in court. I'm a stranger here, but I'm going to expect the same standard of honor, grandpa. You can back out now, and

horses is like playin' poker. Every feller fer himself an' mercy to-ward none! I knowed what it meant when I shook with yuh, young feller, and I hold ye to it. I ho

e Bud had saddled Smoky grandpa hailed him cautiously from the brush-fringe beyond the corr

dark red. With one sweeping look Bud observed the points that told of speed, and his eyes went i

t horse arrives?" he inquired mildly. "Pop, you'

Boise, he's the best runnin' horse in the valley-and that's why he won't run next Sunday, ner no other Sunday till somebuddy brings in a strange horse to put agin h

a mile or so before they emerged into the rough border of the creek bed. Pop reined in close and explained garrulously to Bud h

before he led the way into the creek bed. Even then he kept close under the bank until

Smoky. When he stopped under the bank opposite the half-mile post he dismounted more spryly th

ou should beat me if you kin." He looked at Bud appraisingly. "I'll bet a dollar," he cried suddenly, "that I kin outrun ye, young feller! An' you got

l never see you again to-day unless I

hucks almighty! Come on, then-I'll

ou, Pop. You say

cross the necks of both horses. Pop gathered up the reins,

eins high and leaned far over Smoky's neck, his eyes glaring. Bud-oh, never worry about Bud! In the years that lay between thirte

ond before either could pull up. Pop was pale and

ng as he held out the dollar, but with an anxious tone in his voice. "If this is t

act that Boise was keyed up and stepping around and snorting for another race. Bud watch

ery day," he bantered. "You're fifteen y

lk in my sleep none. By Christmas, We'll make this horse of yours bring us in something! I guess you better turn yore horses all out in the pasture. Dave, he'll give yuh work all right. I'll fix it with Dave. And y

e print off Boise and turned his own horses loose in the pasture, before he let him go on to the house. The last Bud heard from Pop that forenoon was a s