// „u ? o'v Sirj>\ IN 'i. % \ % OI IN _-, ' <-> library ,"' ' * w . Cornell University Library PS 3545.R567W5 When a man's a man :a novel /by Harold B 3 1924 011 853 557 All books are subject to recall after two weeks. Olin/Kroch Library DATE DUE ^ffira ViWff GAYLORD PRINTED IN U S A. Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924011853557 When A Man's A Man A Novel By HAROLD BELL WRIGHT Author op 'That Printer of Udell's," "The Shepherd of the Hills," "The Eyes of the World," Eta, A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York y'.V'Mifipp'"' \/?v. ■■•■ ■*' f fO i COPYRIGHT, igi6, BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT lira wsm mm NARROW U:.^, li Y. 127§4 Copyright, 1916, by Elsbery W. Reynolds PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES Or AMERICA TO MY SONS Gilbert and Paul and Norman This Story of Manhood is affectionately dedicated by their father Acknowledgment IT is fitting that I should here express my indebted- ness to those Williamson Valley friends who in the kindness of their hearts made this story possible. To Mr. George A. Carter, who so generously introduced me to the scenes described in these pages, and who, on the Pot-Hook-S ranch, gave to my family one of the most delightful summers we have ever enjoyed; to Mr. J. H. Stephens and his family, who so cordially welcomed me at rodeo time; to Mr. and Mrs. Joe Contreras, for their kindly hos- pitality; to Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Stewart, who, while this story was first in the making, made me so much at home in the Cross-Triangle home-ranch; to Mr. J. W. Cook, my constant companion, helpful guide, patient teacher and tactful sponsor, who, with his charming wife, made his home mine; to Mr. and Mrs. Herbert N. Cook, and to the many other cattle- men and cowboys, with whom, on the range, in the rodeos, in the wild horse chase about Toohey, after outlaw cattle in Granite Basin, in the corrals and pastures, I rode and worked and lived, my gratitude is more than I can put in words. Truer friends or better companions than these great-hearted, out- spoken, hardy riders, no man could have. If my story in any degree wins the approval of these, my comrades of ranch and range, I shall be proud and happy. H. B. W. "Camp Hole-in-the-Mountain" Near Tucson, Arizona April 29, 1916 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "?* *..w!'„j ' CHAPTER"' Is •" AFTER THE CELEBRATION. HERE is a land where a man, to live, must be a man. It is a land of granite and marble and porphyry and gold — and a man's strength must be as the strength of the primeval hills. It is a land of oaks and cedars and pines — and a man's mental grace must be as the grace of the untamed trees. It is a land of far-arched and unstained skies, where the wind sweeps free and untainted, and the atmosphere is the atmosphere of those places that remain as God made them — and a man's soul must be as the unstained skies, the unburdened wind, and the untainted atmosphere. It is a land of wide mesas, of vild, rolling pastures and broad, untilled, valley meadows— < and a man's freedom must be that freedom which is not bounded by the fences of a too weak and timid convention* aliwn. 11 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN In this land every man is — by divine right — his own king ; he is his own jury, his own counsel, his own judge, and — if it must he — his own executioner. And in this land where a man, to live, must be a man, a woman, if she be not a woman, must surely perish. This is the story of a man who regained that which in his youth had been lost to him; and of how, even when he had recovered that which had been taken from him, he still paid the price of his loss. It is the story of a woman who was saved from herself; and of how she was led to hold fast to 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, on the day following the annual Fourth-of- July cele- bration in one of those far-western years that saw the passing of the Indian and the coming of the automobile. The man was walking along one of the few roads that lead out from the little city, through the mountain gaps and passes, to the wide, unf enced ranges, and to the lonely scat- tered ranches on the creeks and flats and valleys of the great open country that lies beyond. From the fact that he was walking in that land where the distances are such that men most commonly ride, and from the many marks that environment and training leave upon us all, it was evident that the pedestrian was a stranger. He was a man in the prime of young manhood — tall and exceed- ingly well proportioned — and as he went forward along the 12 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN dusty road he bore himself with the unconscious air of one more accustomed to crowded streets than to that rude and Unpaved highway. His clothing bore the unmistakable stamp of a tailor of rank. His person was groomed with that nicety of detail that is permitted only to those who possess both means and leisure, as well as taste. It was evident, too, from his movement and bearing, that he had not sought the mile- high atmosphere of Prescott with the hope that it holds out to those in need of health. But, still, there was a something about him that suggested a lack of the manly vigor and strength that should have be^n his. A student of men would have said that Nature made this man to be in physical strength and spiritual prowess, a com- rade and leader of men — a man's man — a man among men. The same student, looking more closely, might have added that in some way — through some cruel trick of fortune— this man had been cheated of his birthright. The day was still young when the stranger gained the top of the first hill where the road turns to make its steep and winding way down through scattered pines and scrub oak to the Burnt Ranch. Behind him the little city — so picturesque in its mountain basin, with the wild, unfenced land coming down to its very dooryards — was slowly awakening after the last mad night of its celebration. The tents of the tawdry shows that had tempted the crowds with vulgar indecencies, and the booths that had sheltered the petty games of chance where loud- voiced criers had persuaded the multitude with the hope of winning a worthless bauble or a tinsel toy, were being eleared 13 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN away fsom the borders of the plaza, the beauty of which their presence had marred. In the plaza itself — which is the heart of the town, and is usually kept with much pride and care — • the bronze statue of the vigorous Kough Eider Bucky O'Neil and his spirited charger seemed pathetically out of place among the litter of colored confetti and exploded fireworks, and the refuse from various "treats" and lunches left by the celebrating citizens and their guests. The flags and bunting that from window and roof and pole and doorway had given the day its gay note of color hung faded and listless, as though, spent with their gaiety, and mutely conscious that the spirit and purpose of their gladness was past, they waited the hand that would remove them to the ash barrel and the rubbish heap. Pausing, the man turned to look back. For some minutes he stood as one who, while determined upon a certain course, yet hesitates — reluctant and regretful — at the beginning of his venture. Then he went on ; walk- ing with a certain reckless swing, as though, in ignorance of that land toward which he had set his face, he still resolutely turned his back upon that which lay behind. It was as though, for this man, too, the gala day, with its tinseled bravery and its confetti spirit, was of the past. A short way down the hill the man stopped again. This time to stand half turned, with his head in a listening atti- tude. The sound of a vehicle approaching from the way whence he had come had reached his ear. As the noise of wheels and hoofs grew louder a strange expression of mingled uncertainty, determination, and some* 14 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN thing very like fear came over his face. He started forward, hesitated, looked back, then turned doubtfully toward the thinly wooded mountain side. Then, with tardy decision he left the road and disappeared behind a clump of oak bushes, an instant before a team and buckboard rounded the turn and appeared in full view. An unmistakable cattleman — grizzly-haired, square- shouldered and substantial — was driving the wild looking ?eam. Beside him sat a motherly woman and a little boy. As they passed the clump of bushes the near horse of the half-broken pair gave a catlike bound to the right against his tracemate. A second jump followed the first with flash-like quickness; and this time the frightened animal was accom- panied by his companion, who, not knowing what it was all about, jumped on general principles. But, quick as they were, the strength of the driver's skillful arms met their Weight on the reins and forced them to keep the road. "You blamed fools" — the driver chided good-naturedly, as they plunged ahead — "been raised on a cow ranch to get scared at a calf in the brush !" ' Very slowly the stranger came from behind the bushes. Cautiously he returned 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 eyes that gave to his naturally strong face an almost pathetic expression of self-depreciation and shame. As the pedestrian crossed the creek at the Burnt Banch, Joe Conley, leading a horse by a riata which was looped as it had fallen about the animal's neck, came through the big 15 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN corral gate across the road from the house. At the bam Joe disappeared through the small door of the saddle room, the coil of the riata still in his hand, thus compelling his mount to await his return. At sight of the cowboy the stranger again paused and stood hesitating in indecision. But as Joe reappeared from the barn with bridle, saddle blanket and saddle in hand, the man went reluctantly forward as though prompted by some necessity. "Good morning !" said the stranger, courteously, and his voice was the voice that fitted his dress and bearing, while his face was now the carefully schooled countenance of a man world-trained and well-poised. With a quick estimating glance Joe returned the stran- ger's greeting and, dropping the saddle and blanket on the ground, approached his horse's head. Instantly the animal sprang back, with head high and eyes defiant ; but there was no escape, for the rawhide riata was still securely held by his master. There was a short, sharp scuffle that sent the gravel by the roadside flying — the controlling bit was between the reluctant teeth — and the cowboy, who had silently taken the horse's objection as a matter of course, adjusted the blanket, and with the easy skill of long practice swung the heavy saddle to its place. As the cowboy caught the dangling cinch, and with a deft hand tucked the latigo strap through the ring and drew it tight, there was a look of almost pathetic wistfulness on the watching stranger's face — a look of wistfulness and admira- tion and envy. 16 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN Dropping the stirrup, Joe again faced the stranger, this time inquiringly, with that bold, straightforward look so characteristic of his kind. And now, when the man spoke, his voice had a curious note, as if the speaker 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-depreciation and shame. "Pardon me," he said, "but will you tell me, please, am I right that this is the road to the Williamson Valley?" The stranger's manner and voice were in such contrast to his general appearance that the cowboy frankly looked his wonder as he answered courteously, "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 the right-hand fork on the ridge above the goat ranch, it will take you to Simmons. There's a road from Simmons to the Cross-Triangle on the far side of the valley, though. You can see the valley and the Cross-Triangle home ranch from the top of the Divide." "Thank you." The stranger was turning to go when the man in the blue jumper and fringed leather chaps spoke again, curiously. "The Dean with Stella and Little Billy passed iD the buckboard less than an hour ago, on their way home from the celebration. Funny they didn't pick you up, if you're goin' there!" The other paused questioningly. "The Dean?" The cowboy smiled. "Mr. Baldwin, the owner of the Cross-Triangle, you know." 17 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN K)h!" The stranger was clearly embarrassed. Perhaps he iiras thinking of that clump of bushes qp. 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 the Cross-Triangle, be you ?" That self -mocking smile touched the man's lips ; but there was a hint of decisive purpose in his voice as he answered, "Oh, yes." Again the cowboy frankly measured the stranger. The© he moved toward the corral 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 if reaching a decision. The other spoke hastily. "No, no, please don't trouble." Joe paused curiously. "Any friend of Mr. Baldwin's is welcome to anything on the Burnt Ranch, Stranger." "But I — ah — I — have never met Mr. Baldwin," ex- plained 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 — 4>ut I — I prefer to walk." Once more Joe halted, a puzzled expression on his tanned and weather-beaten face. "I suppose you know it's some walk," he suggested doubtfully, as if the man's ignorance were the only possible solution of his 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 18 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" proceeded methodically to tie the coiled riata in its place on the saddle. Then, without a glance toward the stranger who stood watching him in embarrassed silence, he threw the bridle reins over his horse's head, gripped the saddle horn and swung to his seat, reining his horse away from 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 at the pedestrian as the latter was making his way under the pines and up the hill. When the man had disappeared over the crest of the hill, the cowboy muttered a bewildered something, and, touching his horse with the spurs, loped away, as if dismissing a problem too complex for his simple mind. All that day the stranger followed the dusty, unfenced road. Over his head the wide, bright sky was without a cloud to break its vast expanse. On the great, open range of moun- tain, flat and valley the cattle lay quietly in the shade of oak or walnut or cedar, or, with slow, listless movement, sought the watering places to slake their thirst. The wild things re- treated to their secret hiding places in rocky den and leafy thicket to await the cool of the evening hunting hour. The very air was motionless, as if the never-tired wind itself drowsed indolently. And alone in the hushed bigness of that land the man walked with his thoughts — brooding, perhaps, over whatever it was that had so strangely placed him there — dreaming, it may be, over that which might have been, or that which yet 1^ 19 TUSTEN »( [g;vry NARROWSBURG, N. Y. lint WHEN A MAN'S A MAN might be — viewing with questioning, wondering, half -fearful eyes the mighty, untamed scenes that met his eye on every hand. Nor did anyone see him, for at every sound of ap- proaching horse or vehicle he went aside from the highway to hide in the bushes or behind convenient rocks. And always when he came from his hiding place to resume 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 meager sandwich that he took from the pocket of his coat. Then he pushed on again, with grim determination, deeper and deeper into the heart and life of that world which was, to him, so evidently new and strange. The afternoon was well spent when he made his way — wearily now, with droop- ing shoulders and dragging step — up the long slope of the Divide that marks the eastern boundary of the range about Williamson Valley. At the summit, where the road turns sharply around a shoulder of the mountain and begins the steep descent on the other side of the ridge, he stopped. His tired form straight- ened. His face lighted with a look of wondering awe, and an involuntary exclamation came from his lips as his unaccus- tomed eyes swept the wide view that lay from his feet un- rolled before him. Under that sky, so unmatched in its clearness and depth of color, the land lay in all its variety of valley and forest and mesa and mountain — a scene unrivaled in the magnifi- cence and grandeur of its beauty. Miles upon miles in the distance, across those primeval reaches, the faint blue peaks and domes and ridges of the mountains ranked — an un- 20 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN counted sentinel host. The darker masses •£ the timbered hillsides, with the varying shades of pine and cedar, the lighter tints of oak brush and chaparral, the dun tones of the open grass lands, and the brighter note of the valley meadows' green were denned, blended and harmonized by the overlying haze with a delicacy exquisite beyond all human power to picture. And in the nearer distances, chief of that army of mountain peaks, and master of the many miles that lie within their circle, Granite Mountain, gray and grim, reared its mighty bulk of cliff and crag as if in supreme defiance of the changing years or the hand of humankind. In the heart of that beautiful land upon which, from the summit of the Divide, the stranger looked with such rapt appreciation, lies Williamson Valley, a natural meadow of lush, dark green, native grass. And, had the man's eyes been trained to such distances, he might have distinguished in the blue haze the red roofs of the buildings of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. 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 schooled indifference of his face was broken. His self-depreciation and mockery were forgotten. His dark eyes glowed with the fire of excited anticipation — with hope and determined purpose. Then, with a quick movement, as though some ghost of the past had touched him on the shoul- der, he looked back on the way he had come. And the light in his eyes went out in the gloom of painful memories. His countenance, unguarded because of his day of loneliness, grew dark with sadness and shame. It was as though he looked 21 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" beyond the town he had left that morning, with its litter and refuse of yesterday's pleasure, to a life and a world of tawdry shams, wherein men give themselves to win by means fair or fonl the tinsel baubles that are offered in the world's petty games of chance. And yet, even as he looked back, there was in the man's face as much of longing as of regret. He seemed as one who, realizing that he had reached a point in his life journey — a divide, as it were — from which he could see two ways, was resolved to turn from the path he longed to follow and to take the road that appealed to him the least. As one enlist- ing to fight in a just and worthy cause might pause a mo- ment, before taking the oath of service, to regret the ease and freedom he was about 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 feet aside from the road, and, sinking down ■ttpon a convenient rock, gave himself again to the contempla- tion 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 being forced by something deep in his being to reach out in the strength of his manhood to take that which he had been denied. Again the man's untrained eyes had failed to note that which would have first attracted the attention of one schooled in the land that lay about him. He had not seen a tiny mov- ing speck on the road over which he had passed. A horsemaii Was riding toward him. 22 ilgp AD the man on the Divide noticed the approaching horseman it would have been evident, even to one so unacquainted with the country as the stranger, that the rider belonged to that land of riders. While still at a distance too great for the eye to distinguish the details of fringed leather chaps, soft shirt, short jumper, sombrero, spurs and riata, no one could have mistaken the ease and grace of the cowboy who seemed so literally a part of his horse. His seat in the saddle was so secure, so easy, and his bearing so unaffected and natural, that every move- ment of the powerful animal he rode expressed itself rhyth- mically in his own lithe and sinewy body. While the stranger sat wrapped in meditative thought, unheeding the approach of the rider, the horseman, coming on with a long, swinging lope, watched the motionless figure on the summit of the Divide with careful interest. As he drew nearer the cowboy pulled his horse down to a walk, and from under his broad hat brim regarded the stranger intently. He was within a few yards of the point where the man sat 28 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN when the 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 about with a half defiant air to face the intruder. The horseman stopped. He had not missed the signifi- cance of that hurried movement, and his right hand rested carelessly on his leather clad thigh, while his grey eyes were fixed boldly, inquiringly, almost challengingly, on the man he had so unintentionally surprised. As he sat there on his horse, so alert, so ready, in his cow- boy garb and trappings, against the background of Granite Mountain, with all its rugged, primeval strength, the rider made a striking picture of virile manhood. Of some years less than thirty, he was, perhaps, neither as tall nor as heavy as the stranger; but in spite of a certain boyish look on his smooth-shaven, deeply-bronzed face, he bore himself with the unmistakable air of a matured and self-reliant man. Every nerve and fiber of him seemed alive with that vital energy which is the true beauty and the glory of life. The two men presented a striking contrast. Without question one was the proud and finished product of our most advanced civilization. It was as evident that the splendid manhood of the other had never been dwarfed by the weaken- ing atmosphere of an over-cultured, too conventional and too complex environment. The stranger with his carefully tai- lored clothing and his man-of-the-world face and bearing was as unlike this rider of the unfenced lands as a daintily 24 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN groomed thoroughbred from the sheltered and guarded stables of fashion is unlike a wild, untamed stallion from the hills and ranges about Granite Mountain. Yet, unlike as they were, there was a something that marked them as kin. The man of the ranges and the man of the cities were, deep be- neath the surface of their beings, as like as the spirited thor- oughbred and the unbroken wild horse. The cowboy was all that the stranger might have been. The stranger was all that the cowboy, under like conditions, would have been. As they silently faced each other it seemed for a moment that each instinctively recognized this kinship. Then into the dark eyes of the stranger — as when he had watched the cowboy at the Burnt Ranch — there came that look of wistful admiration and envy. And at this, as if the man had somehow made himself known, the horseman relaxed his attitude of tense readiness. The hand that had held the bridle rein to command instant action of his horse, and the hand that had rested so near the. rider's hip, came together on the saddle horn in care- less ease, while a boyish smile of amusement broke over the young man's face. That smile brought a flash of resentment into the eyes of the other and a flush of red darkened his untanned cheeks. A moment he stood; then with 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 the stranger his shoulders shook with silent, con- 25 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN temptuous laughter; then his face became grave, and he looked a little ashamed. The minutes passed, and still he sat there, quietly waiting. Presently, as if yielding to the persistent, silent presence of the horseman, 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 the cowboy to become on the instant kindly con- siderate. Perhaps he remembered one of the Dean's favorite sayings : "Keep your eye on the man who laughs when he's hurt." "Good evening!" said the stranger doubtfully, but with a hint of conscious superiority in his manner. "Howdy !" returned the cowboy heartily, and in his deep voice was the kindliness that made him so loved by all who knew him. "Been having some trouble?" "If I have, it is my own, sir," retorted the other coldly. "Sure," returned the horseman gently, "and you're wel- come to it. Every man has all he needs of his own, I reckon. But I didn't mean it that way ; 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 of the man's answer was one of half apology, and he was smiling whimsically now as if at his own 26 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN 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 from Prescott on foot !" exclaimed the astonished cow- boy. The man on the ground looked up at the horseman, and in a droll tone that made the rider his friend, said, while he stretched his long legs painfully : "I like to walk. You see I — ah — fancied it would be good for me, don't you know." The cowboy laughingly considered — trying, as he said afterward, to figure it out. It was clear that this tall stranger was not in search of health, 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 for work. He did not seem a suspicious character — quite the contrary — and yet — there was that significant hurried movement as if to escape when the horseman had surprised him. The etiquette of the country forbade a direct question, but — "Yes," he agreed thoughtfully, "walking comes in handy sometimes. I don't take to it much myself, though." Then he added shrewdly, "You were at the celebration, I reckon." The stranger's voice betrayed quick enthusiasm, but that odd wistfulness crept into his eyes again and he seemed to lose a little of his poise. "Indeed I was," he said. "I never saw anything to com- pare with it. I've seen all kinds of athletic sports and con- tests and exhibitions, with circus performances and riding, and that sort of thing, you know, and I've read about such things, of course, but" — and his voice grew thoughtful — 27 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "that men ever actually did them — and all in the day's work, as you may say — I — I never dreamed that there were meD like that in these days." The cowhoy shifted his weight uneasily in the saddle, while he regarded the man on the ground curiously. "She was sure a humdinger of a celebration," he admitted, "hut as for the show part I've seen things happen when nobody was thinking anything about it that would make those stunts 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 on anything," he laughed. "It's funny nobody picked you up on the road out here," the cowboy next offered pointedly. "The folks started home early this morning — and Jim Eeid and his family passed me about an hour ago — they were in an automobile. The Sim- mons 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 the suggestion, "Some lonesome up here on foot." "But there are times, you know," returned the other 3esperately, "when a man prefers to be alone." The cowboy straightened in his saddle and lifted his reins. "Thanks," he said dryly, "I reckon I'd better be moving." But the other spoke quickly. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton, I did not mean that for you." The horseman dropped his hands again to the saddle horn, and resumed his lounging posture, thus tacitly accept- 28 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" ing the apology. "You have the advantage of me," he said. The stranger laughed. "Everyone knows that 'Wild Horse Phil' of the Cross-Triangle Ranch won the bronco- riding championship yesterday. I saw you ride." Philip Acton's face showed boyish embarrassment. The other continued, with his strange enthusiasm. "It was great work — wonderful ! I never saw anything like it." There was no mistaking the genuineness of his admira- tion, nor could he hide that wistful look in his eyes. "Shucks!" said the cowboy uneasily. "I could pick a dozen of the boys in that outfit who can ride all around me. It was just my luck, that's all — 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 for these most commonplace things. "The rop- ing ? Why, that was no more than we're doing all the time." "I don't mean the roping," returned the other, "I mean when you rode up beside one of those steers that was run- ning at full speed, and caught him by the horns with your bare hands, and jumped from your saddle, and threw the beast over you, and then lay there with his horns pinning you down! You aren't doing that all the time, are you? You don't mean to tell me that such things as that are a part of your everyday work !" "Oh, the bull doggin' ! Why, no," admitted Phil, witb 29 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN an embarrassed laugh, "that was just fun, you know." The stranger stared at him, speechless. Fun! In the name of all that is most modern in civilization, what manner of men were these who did such things 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 such things ?" "Why, I don't know — we just do them, I reckon." "And could anyone learn to ride as you ride, do you think?" The question came with marked eagerness. "I don't see why not," answered the cowboy honestly. The stranger shook his head doubtfully and looked away over the wild land 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 for him such peculiar interest. "Eeally," he answered indifferently, "I had not thought of that." "I should think you'd be thinking of it along about supper time, if you've walked from town since morning." The stranger looked up with sudden interest; but the cowboy fancied that there was a touch of bitterness under the.droll tone of his reply. "Do you know, Mr. Acton, I have never been really hungry in my life. It might be interesting to try it once, don't you think ?" Phil Acton laughed, as he returned, "It might be interest- ing, all right, but I think I better tell you, just the same, 30 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN that there's a ranch down yonder in the timber. It's nothing but a goat ranch, but I reckon they would take you in. It's too far to the Cross-Triangle for me to ask you there. You can see the buildings, though, from here." The stranger sprang up in quick interest. "You can? The Cross-Triangle Kanch?" "Sure," the cowboy smiled and pointed into the distance. "Those red spot3 over there are the roofs. Jim Eeid's place — the Pot-Hook-S — is just this side of the meadows, and a little to the south. The old Acton homestead — where I was born — is in that bunch of cottonwoods, across the wash from the Cross-Triangle." But strive as he might the stranger's eyes could discern no sign of human 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 doubt- fully. "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. "I should like to see the ranch. I may — I w iH — That is, if I — " He stopped as if not knowing how to finish, and with a gesture of hopelessness turned away to stand silently looking back toward the town, while his face was dark with painful memories, and his lips curved in that mirthless, self-mocking smile.- SI WHEN A MAN'S A MAN And Philip Acton, seeing, felt suddenly that he had rudely intruded upon the privacy of one who had sought the solitude of that lonely place to hide the hurt of some bitter experience. A certain native gentleness made the man of the ranges understand that this stranger was face to face with some crisis in his life-^-that he was passing through one of those trials through which a man. must pass alone. Had it been possible the cowboy would have apologized. But that would have been an added unkindness. Lifting the reins and sitting erect in the saddle, he said indifferently, "Well, I must be moving. I take a short cut here. So long ! 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 eyes as the rider swung his horse aside from the road, plunged down the mountain side, and dashed away through the brush and over the rocks with reckless speed. With a low exclamation of wondering admiration, the man climbed hastily to a higher point, and from there watched until horse and rider, taking a steeper declivity without check- ing their breakneck course, dropped from sight in a cloud of dust. The faint sound of the sliding rocks and gravel dis- lodged by the flying feet died away; the cloud of dust dis- solved in the thin air. The stranger looked away into the blue distance in another vain attempt to see the red spots that marked the Cross-Triangle Ranch. Slowly the man returned to his seat on the rock. The 32 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN long shadows of Granite Mountain crept out from the ha&i* of the cliffs farther and farther over the country below. The blue of the distant hills changed to mauve with deeper masses of purple in the shadows where the canyons are. The lonely figure on the summit of the Divide did not mova The sun hid itself behind the line of mountains, and the blue of the sky in the west changed slowly to gold against which the peaks and domes and points were silhouetted as if cut by a graver's tool, and the bold cliffs and battlements of old Granite grew coldly gray in the gloom. As the night came on and the details of its structure were lost, the moun- tain, to the watching man on the Divide, assumed the appear- ance of a mighty fortress — a fortress, he thought, to which a generation of men might 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 artificial lights — lights valued not for their power to make men see, but for their power to dazzle, attract and intoxicate — lights that permitted no kindly dusk at eventide wherein a man might rest from his day's work — a quiet hour ; lights that revealed squalid shame and tinsel show — lights that hid the stars. The man on the Divide lifted his face to the stars that now in the wide-arched sky were gathering in such unnumbered multitudes to keep their sentinel watch over the world below. The cool evening wind came whispering over the lonely land, and all the furred and winged creatures of the night 33 WHEN" A KAN'S A MAN stole from their dark hiding places into the gloom which ia the beginning of their day. A coyote crept stealthily past in the dark and from the mountain side below came the 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 the distance a bull bellowed hia 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 seemed affectedly dramatic, stretched out his arms in an attitude of wistful longing while his lips moved as if, again and again, he whispered a name. 34 1ST the Williamson Valley country the spring round-up, or "rodeo," as it is called in Arizona, and the shipping are well over by the last of June. During the long summer weeks, until the begin- ning of the fall rodeo in September, there is little for the riders to do. The cattle roam 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 steadier year-round hands only are held. These repair and build fences, visit the watering places, brand an occasional calf that somehow has managed to escape the dragnet of the rodeo, and with "dope bottle" ever at hand doctor such ani- mals as are afflicted with screwworms. It is during these weeks, too, that the horses are broken; for, with the hard and dangerous work of the fall and spring months, there is always need for fresh mounts. The horses of the Cross-Triangle were never permitted to two. on the open range. Because the leaders of the numerous 35 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN bands of wild horses that roamed over the country aboufl Granite Mountain were always ambitious to gain recruits for their harems from their civilized neighbors, the freedom of the ranch horses was limited by the fences of a four- thousand-acre pasture. But within these miles of barbed wire boundaries the brood mares with their growing progeny lived as free and untamed as their wild cousins on the unfenced lands about them. The colts, except for one painful experience, when they were roped and branded, from the day of their birth until they were ready to be broken were never handled. On the morning following his meeting with the stranger on the Divide Phil Acton, with two of his cowboy helpers, rode out to the big pasture to bring in the band. The owner of the Cross-Triangle always declared that Phil was intimately acquainted with every individual horse and head of stock between the Divide and Camp Wood Moun- tain, and from Skull Valley to the Big Chino. In moments of enthusiasm the Dean even maintained stoutly that his young foreman knew as well every coyote, fox, badger, deer, antelope, mountain lion, bobcat and wild horse that had home or hunting ground ,in the country over which the lad had ridden since his babyhood. Certain it is that "Wild Horse Phil," as he was called by admiring friends — for reasons which you shall hear — loved this work and life to which h© was born. Every feature of that wild land, from lonely mountain peak to hidden canyon spring, was as familiar .to him as the streets and buildings of a man's home city are well known to the one reared among them. And as he rodf» WHEN A MAN'S A MAN that morning with his comrades to the day's work the young man felt keenly the call of the primitive, unspoiled life that throbbed with such vital strength about him. He could not have put that which he felt into words; he was not even conscious of the forces that so moved him ; be only knew that he was glad. The days of the celebration at Prescott had been enjoy- able days. To meet old friends and comrades ; to ride with them in the contests that all true men of his kind love; to compare experiences and exchange news and gossip with widely separated neighbors — had been a pleasure. But the curious crowds of strangers; the throngs of sightseers from the, to him, unknown world of cities, who had regarded him as they might have viewed some rare and little-known crea- ture in a menagerie, and the brazen presence of those unclean parasites and harpies that prey always upon such occasions had oppressed and disgusted him until he was glad to escape again to the clean freedom, the pure vitality and the unspoiled spirit of his everyday life and environment. In an overflow of sheer physical and spiritual energy he lifted his horse into a run and with a shrill cowboy yell challenged his companions to a wild race to the pasture gate. It was some time after noon when Phil checked his horse near the ruins of an old Indian lookout on the top of Black Hill. Below, in the open land above Deep Wash, he could see his cowboy companions working the band of horses that had been gathered slowly toward the narrow pass that at the eastern end of Black Hill leads through to the flats at the upper end of the big meadows, and so to the gate and to the 37 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" way they would follow to the corral. It was Phil's purpose to ride across Black Hill down the western and northern slope, through the cedar timber, and, picking up any horses that might be ranging there, join the others at the gate. In the meanwhile there was time for a few minutes rest. Dis- mounting, he loosed the girths and lifted saddle and blanket from Hobson's steaming back. Then, while the good horse, wearied with the hard riding and the steep climb up the mountain side, stood quietly in the shade of a cedar his master, stretched on the ground near by, idly scanned the world that lay below and about them. Very clearly in that light atmosphere Phil could see the trees and buildings of the home ranch, and, just across the sandy wash from the Cross-Triangle, the grove of cottonwooda and walnuts that hid the little old house where he was born. A mile away, on the eastern side of the great valley meadows, he could see the home buildings of the Reid ranch — the Pot- Hook-S — where Kitty Eeid had lived all the days of her life 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 Eeid home. In his mind he could see Kitty dressed in some cool, simple gown, fresh and dainty after the morning's housework, sitting with book or sewing on the front 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 any case, but all that made no difference to Phil's vision — he could see her just the same. Kitty had been very kind to Phil at the celebration. 38 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN But Kitty was always kind — nearly always. But in spite of her kindness the cowboy felt that she had not, somehow, seemed to place a very high valuation upon the medal he had won in the bronco-riding contest. Phil himself did not greatly Value the medal; but he had wanted greatly to win that championship because of the very substantial money prize that went with it. That money, in Phil's mind, was to play a very important part in a long cherished dream that was one of the things that Phil Acton did not talk about. He had not, in fact, ridden for the championship at all, but for his dream, and that was why it mattered so much when Kitty seemed so to lack interest in his success. As though his subconscious mind directed the movement, the young man looked away from Kitty's home to the distant mountain ridge where the night before on the summit of the Divide he had met the stranger. All the way home the cow- boy had wondered about the man; evolving many theories, inventing many things to account for his presence, alone and on foot, so far from the surroundings to which he was so clearly accustomed. Of one thing Phil was sure — the man was in trouble — deep trouble. The more that the clean- minded, gentle-hearted lad of the great out-of-doors thought about it, the more strongly he felt that he had unwittingly intruded at a moment that was sacred to the stranger — sacred because the man was fighting one of those battles that every man must fight — and fight alone. It was this feeling that had kept the young man from speaking of the incident to anyone — even to the Dean, or to "Mother," as he called Mrs. Baldwin. Perhaps, too, this feeling was the real reason for 39 WHExT A MAN'S A MAN" Phil's sense of kinship with the stranger, for the cowboy himself had moments in his life that he could permit no man to look upon. But in his thinking of the man whose per- sonality had so impressed him one thing stood out above all the rest — the stranger clearly belonged to that world of which, from experience, the young foreman of the Cross-Triangle knew nothing. Phil Acton had no desire for the world to which the stranger belonged, but in his heart there was a troublesome question. If — if he himself were more like the man whom he had 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 her three years in school belonged, would it make any difference ? Prom the distant mountain ridge that marks the eastern limits of the Williamson Valley country, and thus, in a degree, marked the limit of Phil's world, the lad's gaze turned again to the scene immediately before him. The band of horses, followed by the cowboys, were trot- ting from the narrow pass out into the open flats. Some of the band — the mothers — went quietly, knowing from past experience that they would in a few hours be returned to their freedom. Others — the colts and yearlings — bewildered, curious and fearful, followed their mothers without protest. But those who in many a friendly race or primitive battle had proved their growing years seemed to sense a coming crisis in their lives, hitherto peaceful. And these, as though warned by that strange instinct which guards all wild things, and realizing that the open ground between the pass and the gate presented their last opportunity, made final desperate 40 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN efforts to escape. With sudden dashes, dodging and doubling, they tried again and again for freedom. But always between them and the haunts they loved there was a persistent horse- man. Running, leaping, whirling, in their efforts to be every- where at once, the riders worked their charges toward the gate. The man on the hilltop sprang to his feet. Hobson threw up his head, and with sharp ears forward eagerly watched the game he knew so well. With a quickness incredible to the uninitiated, Phil threw blanket and saddle to place. As he drew the cinch tight, a shrill cowboy yell came up from the 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 the western slope of Black Hill. For a hundred yards one of the riders had tried to overtake and turn the fugitive; but as he saw how the stride of the free horse was widening the distance between them, the cow- boy turned back lest others follow the successful runaway's example. The yell was to 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 in a wild, reckless, plunging run to head the, for the moment, victorious bay. An hour later the foreman rejoined his companions who were holding the band of horses at the gate. The big bay, reluctant, protesting, twisting and turning in vain attempts to outmaneuver Hob- son, was a captive in the loop of "Wild Horse Phil's" riata. In the big corral that afternoon Phil and his helpers, 41 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" with the Dean and Little Billy looking on, cut out from the herd the horses selected to be broken. These, one by one, were forced through the gate into the adjoining corral, from which they watched with uneasy wonder and many excited and ineffectual attempts to follow, when their more fortunate companions were driven again to the big pasture. Then Phil opened another gate, and the little band dashed wildly through, to find themselves in the small meadow pasture where they would pass the last night before the one great battle of their lives — a battle that would be for them a dividing point between those years of ease and freedom which had been theirs from birth and the years of hard and useful service that were to come. Phil sat on his horse at the gate watching with critical eye as the unbroken animals raced away. "Some good ones in the bunch this year, Uncle Will," he commented to his employer, who, standing on the watering trough 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 foreman dismounted beside him. Then, while the young man slipped the bridle from his horse and stood waiting for the animal to drink, the older man regarded him silently, as though in his own mind the Dean's observation bore somewhat upon Phil himself. That was always the way with the Dean. As Sheriff Fellows once remarked to Judge Powell in the old days of the cattle rust- lers' glory, "Whatever Bill Baldwin says is mighty nigh always double-barreled." 42 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" There are also two sides to the Dean. Or, rather, to be accurate, there is a front and a back. The back — flat and straight and broad — indicates one side of his character — the side that belongs with the square chin and the blue eyes that always look at you with such frank directness. It was this side of the man that brought him barefooted and penniless to Arizona in those days long gone when he was only a boy and Arizona a strong man's country. It was this side of him that brought him triumphantly through those hard years of the Indian troubles, and in those wild and lawless times made him respected and feared by the evildoers and trusted and followed by those of his kind who, out of the hardships and dangers of those turbulent days, made the Arizona of to-day. It was this side, too, that finally made the barefoot, penniless boy the owner of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. I do not know the exact number of the Dean's years — I only know that his hair is grey, and that he does not ride as much as he once did. I have heard him say, though, that for thirty-five years he lived in the saddle, and that the Cross-Triangle brand is one of the oldest irons in the State. And I know, too, that his back is still flat and broad and straight. The Dean's front, so well-rounded and hearty, indicates as clearly the other side of his character. And it is this side that belongs to the full red cheeks, the ever-ready chuckle or laugh ; that puts the twinkle in the blue eyes, and the kindly tones in his deep voice. It is this side of the Dean's character that adds so large a measure of love to the respect and con- fidence accorded him by neighbors and friends, business asso- 43 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN eiates and employees. It is this side of the Dean, too, that, in these days, sits in the shade of the hig -walnut trees — planted by his own hand — and talks to the youngsters of the days that are gone, and that makes the young riders of this generation seek him out for counsel and sympathy and help. Three things the Dean knows — cattle and horses and men. One thing the Dean will not, cannot tolerate~-weakness in one who should be strong. Even bad men he admires, if they are strong — not for their badness, but for their strength. Mistaken men he loves in spite of their mistakes — if only they be not weaklings. There is no place anywhere in the Dean's philosophy of life for a weakling. I heard him tell a man once — nor shall I ever forget it — "You had better die like a man, sir, than live like a sneaking coyote." The Dean's sons, men grown, were gone from the home ranch to the fields and 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 the watering trough, the Dean walked with his young foreman to the saddle shed. Neither of the men spoke, for between them there was that companionship which does not require a constant flow of talk to keep it alive. Not until the cowboy had turned his horse loose, and was hanging saddle and bridle on their accustomed peg did the older man speak. "Jim Keid's goin' to begin breakin' horses next week." "So I heard," returned Phil, carefully spreading his sad" die blanket to dry. U WHEN A MAN'S A MAN The Dean spoke again in a tone of indifference. "He wants you to help him." "Me ! What's the matter with Jack ?" "He's goin' to the D.l to-morrow." Phil was examining the wrapping on his saddle horn with — the Dean nofed — quite unnecessary care. v "Kitty wa% over this mornin'," said the Dean gently. The young man turned, and, taking off his spurs, hung them on the saddle horn. Then as he kicked off his leather chaps he said shortly, "I'm not looking for a job as a profes- sional bronco-buster." The Dean's eyes twinkled. "Thought you might like to help a neighbor out ; just to be neighborly, you know." "Do you want me to ride for Keid ?" demanded Phil. "Well, I suppose as long as there's broncs to bust some- body's got to bust 'em," the Dean returned, without commit- ting himself. And then, when Phil 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 handle here." As they moved away toward the house, Phii returned with significant emphasis, "When I have to ride for anybody besides you it won't be Kitty Eeid's father." And the Dean commented in his reflective tone, "It does sometimes seem to make a difference who a man rides for, don't it?" In the pasture by the corrals, the horses that awaited the approaching trial that would mark for them the beginning of a new life passed a restless night. Some in meekness of spirit or, perhaps, with deeper wisdom fed quietly. Others 45 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN wandered about aimlessly, snatching an occasional uneasy mouthful of grass, and looking about often in troubled doubt. The more rebellious ones followed the fence, searching for some place of weakness in the barbed barrier that imprisoned them. And one, who, had he not been by circumstance robbed of his birthright, would have been the strong leader of a wild band, stood often with wide nostrils and challenging eye, gazing toward the corrals and buildings as if questioning the right of those who had brought him there from the haunts he loved. And somewhere in the night of that land which was as unknown to him as the meadow pasture was strange to the unbroken horses, a man awaited the day which, for him too, was to stand through all his remaining years as a mark between the old life and the new. As Phil Acton lay in his bed, with doors and windows open wide to welcome the cool night air, he heard the restless horses in the near-by pasture, and smiled as he thought of the big bay and the morrow — smiled with the smile of a man who looks forward to a battle worthy of his best strength and skill. And then, strangely enough, as he was slipping into that dreamless sleep of those who live as he lived, his mind went back again to the stranger whom he had met on the summit of the Divide. If he were more like that man, would it make any difference — the cowboy wondered. AT THE CORRAL. JN the beginning of the morning, when Granite Mountain's fortress-like battlements and towers loomed gray and bold and grim, the big bay horse trumpeted a warning to his less watchful mates. 'Instantly, with heads high and eyes wide, the band stood in frightened indecision. Two horsemen — shadowy aid mysterious forms in the mistv light — were riding from 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, maneuvering to put their mates between them and the enemy. But the bay went boldly a short distance toward the danger and stood still with wide nostrils and fierce eyes as though ready for the combat. For a few moments, as the horsemen seemed about to go past, hope beat high in the hearts of the timid prisoners. Then the riders circled to put the band between themselvei and the corral gate, and the frightened animals knew. Bat always as they whirled and dodged in their attempts to avoid 43 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN that big gate toward which they were forced to move, there was a silent, persistent horseman barring the way. The big bay alone, as though realizing the futility of such efforts and so conserving his strength for whatever was to follow, trotted proudly, boldly into the corral, where he stood, his eyes never leaving the riders, as his mates crowded 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 and winter seasons between the months of the rodeos were considered members of the family. Chosen for their character, as well as for their knowledge of the country and their skill in their work the Dean and "Stella," as Mrs. Baldwin is called throughout all that country, always spoke of them affectionately as "our boys." And this, better than anything that could be said, is an introduction to the mistress of the Cross-Triangle household. At the challenging laugh which followed Curly's observa- tion, Phil returned quietly with his sunny smile, "Maybe I'll quit him before he gets 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 not wear your medal, son. It might excite him to know that you are the champion buster of Arizona." "Shucks I" piped up Little Billy excitedly, "Phil can ride anything what wears hair, can't you, Phil ?" 48 WHEN A MAWS A MAN" Phil, embarrassed at the laughter which followed, said, with tactful seriousness, to his little champion, "That's right, kid. You stand up for your pardner every time, don't you ? You'll be riding them yourself before long. There's a little sorrel in that bunch that I've picked out to gentle for you." He glanced at his employer meaningly, and the Dean's face glowed with appreciation of the young man's thoughtfulness. "That old horse, Sheep, of yours," continued Phil to Little Billy, "is getting too old and stiff for your work. I've noticed him stumbling a lot lately." Again he glanced inquiringly at the Dean, who answered the look with 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 with him." Little Billy's retort came in a flash. "Huh, 'Wild Horse Phil' will be a-ridin' 'em long after you've got your'n, Curly Elson." "Look out, son," cautioned the Dean, when the laugh had gone round again. "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 be such 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 speaking generally, "he's sure got a license to be bad. His mother was the wickedest piece of horse flesh I ever knew. Kemember her, Stella ?''" 49 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Indeed I do," returned Mrs. Baldwin. "She nearly ruined that Windy Jim who came from nobody knew where, and bragged that he could ride anything." The Dean chuckled reminiscently. "She sure sent Windy back where he came from. But I tell you, boys, that kind of a horse makes the best in the world once you get 'em broke right. Horses are just like men, anyhow. If they ain't got enough in 'em to fight when they're bein' broke, they ain't generally worth breakin'." "The man that rides that bay will sure be a-horseback," naid 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, with Little Billy tagging eagerly at their heels. The Dean and Phil remained for a few minutes at the table. "You really oughtn't to say such things to those boys, IWill," reproved Mrs. Baldwin, as she watched them from the window. "It encourages them to be wild, and land knows they don't need any encouragement." "Shucks," returned the Dean, with that gentle note that Was always in his 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's goin' to go bad. Look at me and Phil here," he added, as they in turn pushed their chairs back from the table ; "you've fussed enough over us to spoil a dozen men, and ain't we been a credit to you all the time?" 50 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN 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 careful to-day, won't you, son ? You know my other Phil — " She stopped and turned away. The young man knew that story — a story common to that land where the lives of men are not infrequently offered a sacrifice to the untamed strength of the life that in many forms they are daily called upon to meet and master. "Never mind, mother," he said gently. "I'll be all right." Then more lightly he added, with his sunny smile, "If that big bay starts anything with me, I'll climb the corral fence pronto." Quietly, as one who faces a hard day's work, Phil went to the saddle shed where he buckled on chaps and spurs. Then, after looking carefully to stirrup leathers, cinch and latigos, he went on to the corrals, the heavy saddle under his arm. Curly and Bob, their horses saddled and ready, were making animated targets of themselves for Little Billy, who, mounted on Sheep, a gentle old cow-horse, was whirling a miniature riata. As the foreman appeared, the cowboys dropped their fun, and, mounting, took the coils of their own rawhide ropes in hand. "Which one will you have first, Phil ?" asked Curly, as he moved toward the gate between the big corral and the smaller enclosure that held the band of horses. "That black one with the white star will do," directed Phil quietly. Then to Little Billy: "You'd better get back 51 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN 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 to watch the beginning of the work. "No, no — please, Uncle Will," begged the lad. "They can't get me as long as I'm on Sheep." Phil and the Dean laughed. "I'll look out for him," said the young man. "Only," he added to the boy, "you must keep out of the way." "And see that you stick to Sheep, if you expect him to take care of you," finished the Dean, relenting. Meanwhile the gate between the corrals had been thrown open, and with Bob to guard the opening Curly rode in among the unbroken horses to cut out the animal indicated by Phil, and from within that circular enclosure, where the earth had been ground to fine powder by hundreds of thou- sands of frightened feet, came the rolling thunder of quick- beating hoofs as in a swirling cloud of yellow dust the horses rushed and leaped and whirled. Again and again the fright- ened animals threw themselves against the barrier that hemmed them in ; but that fence, built of cedar posts set close in stockade fashion and laced on the outside with wire, was made to withstand the maddened rush of the heaviest steers. And always, amid the confusion of the frenzied animals, the figure of the mounted man in their midst could be seen calmly directing their wildest movements, and soon, out from the crowding, jostling, whirling mass of flying feet and tossing manes and tails, the black with the white star shot toward 52 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" the gate. Bob's horse leaped aside from the way. Curl/a horse was between the black and his mateSj and before the animal could gather his confused senses he was in the larger corral. The day's work had begun. The black dodged skillfully, and the loop of Ourly's riata missed the mark. "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 Billy could not hear. The Dean chuckled. Bob's riata whirled, shot out its snaky length, and his trained horse braced himself skillfully to the black's weight on the rope. For a few minutes the animal at the loop end of the riata struggled desperately — plunging, tugging, throw- ing himself this way and that; but always the experienced cow-horse turned with his victim and the rope was never slack. When his first wild efforts were over and the black stood with his wide braced feet, breathing heavily as that choking loop began to tell, the strain on the taut riata was lessened, and Phil went quietly toward the frightened captive. No one moved or spoke. This was not an exhibition the success of which depended on the vicious wildness of the horse to be conquered. This was work, and it was not Phil's business to provoke the black to extremes in order to exhibit bis own prowess as a rider for the pleasure of spectators who had paid to see the show. The rider was employed to 53 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" win the confidence of the unbroken horse entrusted to him; to force obedience, if necessary; to gentle and train, and so make of the wild creature a useful and valuable servant for the Dean. There are riders whose methods demand that they throw every unbroken horse given them to handle, and who gentle an animal by beating it about the head with loaded quirts, ripping its flanks open with sharp spurs and tearing its mouth with torturing bits and ropes. These turn over to their employers as their finished product horses that are broken, indeed — but broken only in spirit, with no heart or courage left to them, with dispositions ruined, and often with jphysical injuries from which they never recover. But riders of such methods have no place among the men employed by owners of the Dean's type. On the Cross-Triangle, and indeed on all ranches where conservative business principles are in force, the horses are handled with all the care and gentleness that the work and the individuality of the animal will permit. After a little Phil's hand gently touched the black's head. Instantly the struggle was resumed. The rider dodged a yicious blow from the strong fore hoofs and with a good natured laugh softly chided the desperate animal. And so, presently, the kind hand was again stretched forth; and then a broad band of leather was deftly slipped over the black's frightened eyes. Another thicker and softer rope was knotted so that it could not slip about the now sweating neck, and fashioned into a hackamore or halter about the animal's nose. 54 WHEN A MAN'S A' MAN Then the riata was loosed. Working deftly, silently, gently ■ — ever wary of those dangerous hoofs — Phil next placed blanket and saddle on the trembling black and drew the cincK tight. Then the gate leading from the corral to the open range was swung back. Easily, but quickly and surely, the rider swung to his seat. He paused a moment to be sure that all was right, and then leaning forward he reached over and raised the leather blindfold. For an instant the wild, unbroken horse stood still, then reared until it seemed he must fall, and then, as his forefeet touched the ground again, the spurs went home, and with a mighty leap forward the frenzied animal dashed, bucking, plunging, pitching, through the gate and away toward the open country, followed by Curly and Bob, with Little Billy spurring old Sheep, in hot pursuit. For a little the Dean lingered in the suddenly emptied corral. Stepping up on the end of the long watering trough, close to the dividing fence, he studied with knowing eye the animals on the other side. Then leisurely he made his wa$ out of the corral, visited the windmill pump, looked in on) Stella from the kitchen porch, and then saddled Browny, his own particular horse that grazed always about the place at privileged ease, and rode off somewhere on some business of his own. When the black horse had spent his strength in a vain attempt to rid himself of the dreadful burden that had attached itself so securely to his back, he was herded back to the corral, where the burden set him free. Dripping with £3 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" Bweat, trembling in every limb and muscle, wild-eyed, with distended nostrils and heaving flanks, the black crowded in among his mates again, his first lesson over — his years of ease and freedom 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 hoofs drifted over the stockade enclosure, and out of the mad confusion the buckskin dashed wildly through the gate to be initiated into his new life. And so, hour after hour, the work went on, as horse after horse at Phil's word was cut out of the band and ridden; and every horse, according to disposition and temper and strength, was different. While his helpers did their part the rider caught a few moments rest. Always he was good matured, soft spoken and gentle. When a frightened animal, not understanding, tried to kill him, he accepted it as evi- dence of a commendable spirit, and, with that sunny, boyish smile, informed his pupil kindly that he was a good horse and must not make a fool of himself. In so many ways, as the Dean had said at breakfast that morning, horses are just like men. It was mid-afternoon when the master of the Cross- Triangle again strolled leisurely out to the corrals. Phil and his helpers, including Little Billy, were just disappearing over the rise of ground beyond the gate on the farther side of the enclosure as the Dean reached the gate that opens toward the barn and house. He went on through the corral, 56 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN and slowly, as one having nothing else to do, climhed the little knoll from which he could watch the riders in the dis- tance. When the horsemen had disappeared among the scat- tered cedars on the ridge, a mile or so to the west, the Dean atill stood looking in that direction. But the owner of the Cross-Triangle was not watching for the return of his men. He was not even thinking of them. He was looking beyond the cedar ridge to where, several miles away, a long, mesa- topped mountain showed black against the blue of the more distant hills. The edge of this high table-land broke abruptly in a long series of vertical cliffs, the formation known to Ari- zonians as rim rocks. The deep shadows of the towering black wall of cliffs and the gloom of the pines and cedars that hid the foot of the mountain gave the place a sinister and threatening appearance. As he looked, the Dean's kindly face grew somber and stern; his blue eyes were for the moment cold and accusing; under his grizzled mustache his mouth, usually so ready to smile or laugh, was set in lines of uncompromising firmness. Jn these quiet and well-earned restful years of the Dean's ilife the Tailholt Mountain outfit was the only disturbing jlement. But the Dean did not permit himself to be long annoyed by the thoughts provoked by Tailholt Mountain. Philosophically he turned his broad back to the intruding scene, and went back to the corral, and to the more pleasing occupation of looking at the horses. If the Dean had not so abruptly turned his back upon the r tdscape, he would have noticed the figure of a man moving 57 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN elowly along the road that skirted the valley meadow leading from Simmons to the Cross-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 the watering 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 that he'd better be good and not get himself hurt," smiled Phil. "He's sure some horse," he added admiringly. Then to his helpers : "I'll take that black with the white forefoot this time, Curly." Just as the fresh horse dashed into the larger corral a man on foot appeared, coming over the rise of ground to the west; and by the time that 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 the Divide. 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 big gate, where he sat, with one leg over the topmost bar, an interested spectator. 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 boyish smile and a quick nod of welcome to the man perched above him. The stranger smiled in return, but did not speak. He must have thought, though, that this cowboy appeared quite different from the picturesque rider he had seen at the celebration and on the summit of 58 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN the Divide. That Phil Acton had been — as the cowboy himself would have said — "all togged out in his glad rags." This man wore chaps that were old and patched from hard service ; his shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, was the color of the corral dirt, and a generous tear revealed one muscular shoulder; his hat was greasy and battered; his face grimed and streaked with dust and sweat, but his sunny, boyish smile would have identified Phil in any garb. When the rider was ready to mount, and Bob went to open the gate, the stranger climbed down and drew a little aside. And when Phil, passing where he stood, looked laugh- ingly down at him from the back of the bucking, plunging horse, he made as if to applaud, but checked himself and went quickly to the top of the knoll to watch the riders until they disappeared over the ridge. "Howdy ! Fine weather we're havin'." It was the Dean's hearty voice. He had gone forward courteously to greet the stranger while the latter was watching the riders. The man turned impulsively, his face lighted with enthu- siasm. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "but that man can ridq!" "Yes, Phil does pretty well," returned the Dean indiffer- ently. "Won the championship at Prescott the other day." Then, more heartily: "He's a mighty good boy, too — take him any way you like." As he spoke the cattleman looked the stranger over criti- cally, much as he would have looked at a steer or horse, noting the long limbs, the well-made body, the strong face and clear, dark eyes. The man's dress told the Dean simply that tha 59 W3EN A MAN'S A MAN" stranger was from the city. His bearing commanded the older man's respect. The stranger's next statement, as he looked thoughtfully over the wide land of valley and hill and mesa and mountain, 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 just naturally can't be any better. We've got the climate ; we've got the land ; and we've got the men." The stranger looked at the Dean quickly when he said "men." It was worth much 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 just don't make 'em outside of Arizona. It takes a country like this to produce 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 a rope, an' shoot, mebby, once in a while." The riders were returning and the Dean and the stranger walked back down the 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 the Cross-Triangle. This man certainly appeared prosperous even though he was walking. But there was no accounting for the queer things that city men would do. 60 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" "It does pretty well," the cattleman admitted. "I manage to make a livin'." The other smiled as though slightly embarrassed. Then : "Do you need any help ?" "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 his measuring, critical look. "You've never done any work," he said gently. The man stood very straight before him and spoke almost defiantly. "Ne, 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 say something 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- fo&ted pupil, was coming 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 a hint of amusement, but gave no sign that he had ever seen him before. The same natural delicacy of feeling thvt had prevented the cowboy from discussing the man upon whose privacy he felt he had intruded that evening of their meeting on the Divide led him now to ignore the incident— a consideration which could not but command the strange man's respect, and for which he looked his gratitude. There was something About the stranger, too, that to Phil 61 WHEN" A MAN'S A MATT seemed different. This tall, well-built fellow who stood before them so self-possessed, and ready for anything, was not alto- gether like the uncertain, embarrassed, half-frightened and troubled gentleman at whom Phil 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, out of the very bitterness of his experience, called forth from within himself a strength of which, until then, he had been only dimly conscious. There was now, in his face and bear- ing, courage and decision and purpose, and with it all a glint of that same humor that had made him so bitterly mock himself. The Dean's philosophy touching the possibilities of the man who laughs when he is hurt seemed in this stranger about to be justified. Phil felt oddly, too, that the man was in a way experimenting with himself — testing himself as it were — and being altogether a normal human, the cowboy felt strongly inclined to help the experimenter. In this spirit h© answered the Dean, while looking mischievously at the stranger. "We can use him if he can ride." The stranger smiled understandingly. "I don't see why I couldn't," he returned in that droll tone. "I seera to have the legs." He looked down at his long lower Jimbs reflect- ively, as though quaintly considering them quite apart from himself. Phil laughed. "Huh," said the Dean, slightly mystified at the apparent understanding between the young men. Then to the stranger : WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "What do you want to work for ? You don't look as thougK you needed to. A sort of vacation, heh ?" There was spirit in the man's answer. "I want to work for the reason that all men want work. If you do not employ Jne, I must try somewhere else." "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 con- test. I learned that he was foreman of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. I thought I would rather work where he worked, if I could." The Dean looked at Phil. Phil looked at the Dean. Together they looked at the stranger. The two cowboys who were sitting on their horses near-by grinned at each other. "And what is your name, sir?" the Dean asked courte- ously. For the first time the man hesitated and seemed embar- rassed. He looked uneasily about with a helpless inquiring glance, as though appealing for some suggestion. "Oh, never mind your name, if you have forgotten it," eaid the Dean dryly. The stranger's roaming eyes fell upon Phil's old chaps, that in every wrinkle and scar and rip and tear gave such -eloquent testimony as to tha wearer's life, and that curious, self -mocking smile touched his lips. Then, throwing up bis WHEN A MAN'S A MAN head and looking the Dean straight in the eye, he said boldly, but with that note of droll humor in his voice, "My name is Patches, 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 came from 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 significant glances. 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. "Ill endeavor to make it all of that for you, if you ?dll get off your horse." The grinning cowboy, with a wink at his companion, dismounted cheerfully. Curly Elson was held to be the best man with his hands in Yavapai County. He could not refuse so tempting an opportunity to add to his well-earned reputa- tion. Eive minutes later Curly lifted himself on one elbow in the corral dust, and looked up with respectful admiration to the quiet man who stood waiting for him to rise. Curly'a lip was bleeding generously; the side of his face seemed to have slipped out of place, and his left eye was closing surely and rapidly. WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Get up," said the tall man calmly. "There is mow where that came from, if you want it." The cowboy grinned painfully. "I ain't hankerin' after any more." he mumbled, feeling his face tenderly. "I 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 as nearly a smile as his battered features would permit. "Do you mind shaking on it, Mr. Honorable Patches? Just to show that there'& no hard feelin'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 I wouldn't have bothered to show you my credentials." "My mistake," returned Curly. "It's them there creden- tials of yourn, not your name, that's hell." He gingerly mounted his horse again, and Patches turned back to the Dean as though apologizing for the interruption, "I beg your pardon, sir, but — about work ?" The Dean never told anyone just what his thoughts were at that particular moment; probably because they were so many and so contradictory and confusing. Whether from this uncertainty of mind; from a habit of depending upon his young foreman, or because of that something which Phil and the stranger seemed to have in common, he shifted the 65 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAH whole matter by saying, "It's up to Phil here. He's foreman of the Crdss-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 was a 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 after our 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 you first that there was a man around somewhere. I know you are curious to see what you would do if put to the test. I am curious, too. I'll give you a chance." Aloud he reminded the stranger pointedly, "I said we might use you if you could ride." Patches smiled his self-mocking smile, evidently appre- ciating his predicament. "And I said," he retorted, "that I didn't see why I couldn't." Phil turned to his grinning but respectful helpers. "Bring out that bay with the blazed face." "Great Snakes!" ejaculated Curly to Bob, as they reached the gate leading to the adjoining corral. "His name is Patches, all right, but he'll be pieces when that bay devil gets through with him, if he can't ride. Do you reckon he can?" "Dunno," returned Bob, as he unlatched the gate without dismounting. "I thought he couldn't fight." "So did I," returned Curly, grimly nursing his battered face. "You cut out the horse ; I can't more'n half see." 66 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN It was no trouble to cut out the bay. The big horse seemed to understand that his time had come. All day he had seen his mates go forth to their testing, had watched them as they fought with all their strength the skill and endurance of that smiling, boy-faced man, and then had seen them as they returned, sweating, trembling, conquered and subdued. As Bob rode toward him, he stood for one defiant moment as motionless as a horse of bronze; then, with a suddenness that gave Curly at the gate barely 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 was flushed, and he was smiling to himself mockingly — as though amused at the thought of what was about to happen to him. The Dean also was watching Patches, and again the young foreman and his employer exchanged significant glances as Phil turned and went quickly to Little Billy. Lifting the lad from his saddle and seating bim on the fence above the long 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 from Curly, Bob and the Dean. A quick look over his shoulder, and Phil saw the big Vorse with ears wickedly flat, eyes gleaming, and teeth bared, winking straight in his direction. The animal had apparently singled him out as the author of his misfortunes, and pro- posed to dispose of bis arch-enemy at the very outset of the w WHEN A MAN'S A MAN battle. There was only one sane thing to do, and Phil did it A vigorous, scrambling leap placed him beside Little Billy on the top of the fence above the watering trough. "Good thing I reserved a seat in your grandstand foi 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 fought that 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 of his taut riata, and working skillfully with his trained cow-horse to foil every wicked plunge and wild leap, grinned with appreciation, as he added, "I'll bet four bits you can't do it again, Phil, without a runnin' 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 incident which might so easily have been a tragedy, suddenly laughed aloud — a joyous, ringing laugh that mada Phil look at him sharply. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton," said Patches meekly, but with that droll voice which brought a glint of laughter into the foreman's eyes and called forth another chuckle from the Dean. "You can take my saddle," said Phil pointedly. "It's WHEN A MAN'S A MAN over there at the end of the watering trough. You'll find the stirrups about right, I reckon — I ride with them rather long." For a moment the stranger looked him straight in the eyes, then without a word started for the saddle. He was half way to the end of the watering trough when Phil over- took him. "I believe I'd rather saddle him myself," the cowboy explained quietly, with his sunny smile. "You see, I've gcC to teach these horses some cow sense before the fall rodeo, and I'm rather particular about the way they're handled at the start." "Exactly," returned Patches, "I don't blame you. That fellow seems rather to demand careful treatment, doesn't he ?" Phil laughed. "Oh, you don't need to be too particular about his feelings once you're up in the middle of him," he retorted. The big bay, instead of acquiring sense from his observa- tions, as Phil had expressed to the Dean a hope that he would, seemed to have gained courage and determination. Phil's approach was the signal for a mad plunge in the young man's direction, which was checked by the skill and weight of Bob's trained cow-horse on the rope. Several times Phil went toward the bay, and every time his advance was met by one of those vicious rushes. Then Phil mounted Curly's horse, and from his hand the loop of another riata fell over the bay's head. Shortening his rope by coiling it in his rein hand, he maneuvered the trained horse closer and t m WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN closer to his struggling captive, until, with Bob's co-operation on the other side of the fighting animal, he could with safety fix the leather blindfold over those wicked eyes. When at last hackamore and saddle were in place, and the bay stood trembling and sweating, Phil wiped the perspi- ration from his own forehead and turned to the stranger. "Your horse is ready, sir." The man's face was perhaps . a shade whiter than its usual color, but his eyes were glowing, and there was a grim set look about his smiling lips that made the hearts of those men go out to him. He seemed to realize so that the joke was on himself, and with it all exhibited such reckless indif- ference to consequences. Without an instant's hesitation he started toward 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 1" asked the Dean, pointedly. "I'm going to," returned Patches. "But," he added witl his droll humor, "I can't say how far." "Don't you know that he'll kill you if he can?" que& tioned the Dean curiously, 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'! need to kill yourself to get a job with this outfit." 70 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "That's very kind of you, sir," returned the stranger gratefully. "I'm rather 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 the man really could not ride. The Dean spoke kindly. "Why?" "Because," said Patches slowly, "I am curious to see what I will do under such circumstances, and if I don't try the experiment now I'll never know whether I have the nerve to do it or not." As he finished he turned and walked deliberately toward the horse. Phil ran to Curly's side, and the cowboy at his foreman's gesture leaped from his saddle. The young man mounted his helper's horse, and with a quick movement caught the riata from the saddle horn and flipped open a ready loop. The stranger was close to the bay's off, or right, side. "The other side, Patches," called Phil genially. "You want to start in right, 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 watch his heels. Take the stirrup with your right hand and turn it to catch your foot. Stay baek by hia shoulder until you are ready to swing up. Take your time." "I won't be long," returned Patches, as he awkwardly gained his seat in the saddle. Phil moved his horse nearer the center of the corral, and shook out his loop a little. 71 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "When you're ready, lean over and pull up the blind- fold," he called. The man on the horse did not hesitate. With every angry nerve and muscle strained to the utmost, the powerful bay leaped into the air, coming down with legs stiff and head between his knees. For an instant the man miraculously kept his place. With another vicious plunge and a cork-screw twist the maddened brute went up again, and this time the man was flung from the saddle as from a gigantic catapult, to fall upon his shoulders and back in the corral dust, where he lay still. The horse, rid of his enemy, leaped again; then with catlike quickness and devilish cunning 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 horse could have withstood that mad charge. The vicious brute was within a bound of his victim, and had reared to crush him with the weight of heavy hoofs, when a rawhide rope tightened about those uplifted forefeet and the bay himself crashed to earth. Leaving the cow-horse to hold the riata tight, Phil sprang from his saddle and ran to the fallen man. The Dean came with water in his felt hat from the trough, and presently the stranger opened hia eyes. For a moment he lay looking up into their faces 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 72 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Bomewhat unsteadily, and began brushing the dust from hie clothes. Then he looked curiously toward the horse that Curly was holding down by the simple means of sitting on the animal's head. "I certainly thought my legs were long enough to reach around him," he said reflectively. "How in the world did he manage it? I seemed to be falling for a week." Phil yelled and the Dean laughed until the tears ran down his red cheeks, while Bob and Curly went wild. Paiyches went to the horse, and gravely walked around him. Then, "Let him up," 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 awa^ 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 crazy experiments." At the Dean's words the look of gratitude in the man's eyes was almost pathetic. "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. 73 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" The Dean chuckled. "You'll be all right when you get your growth. Come on over here now, out of the way, while Phil takes some of the cussedness out of that fool horse." | Together they watched Phil ride the bay and return him to his mates a very tired and a much wiser pupil. Then, while Patches remained to watch further operations in the corral, the Dean went to the house to tell Stella all about it. j "And what do you think he really is ?" she asked, as the last of a long list of questions and comments. The Dean shook his head. "There's no tellin'. A man like that is liable to be anything." Then he added, with his usual philosophy: "He acts, though, like a genuine thor- oughbred that's been badly mishandled an' has just found it out." When the day's work was finished and supper was over Little Billy found Patches where he stood looking across the valley toward Granite Mountain that loomed so boldly against the soft light of the evening sky. The man greeted the boy awkwardly, as though unaccustomed to children. But Little Billy, very much at ease, signified his readiness to help the stranger to an intimate acquaintance with the world of which he knew so much more than this big man. He began with no waste of time on mere preliminaries. "See that mountain over there? That's Granite Moun- tain. There's wild horses live around there, an' sometimes we catch 'em. Bet you don't know that Phil's name is 'Wild Horse Phil'." Patches smiled. "That's a good name for him, isn't it V* u WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "You bet." He turned and pointed eagerly to the west. "There's another mountain 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 know about 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 tell you. Only you mus'n't ever say anything 'bout it out loud. Nick and Yavapai 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 they hadn't. Phil, he's my pardner, you know." "And a fine pardner, too, I'll bet," returned the stranger, as if not wishing to acquire further information about the men of Tailholt Mountain. "You bet he is," came the instant response. "Only Jim Beid, he don't like him very well." "That's too bad, isn't it?" * "Yes. You see, Jim Beid is Kitty's daddy. They live over there." He pointed across the meadow to where, a mile away, a light twinkled in the window of the Pot-Hook-S 75 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN ranch house. "Kitty Keid's a mighty nice girl, I tell you, but Jim, he says that there needn't no cow-puncher come around 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's private 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 a tenderfoot, ain't you ?" Catching sight of the Dean who was coming toward them, he shouted gleefully, "Uncle Will, Mr. Patches is scared of an owl. 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 with his Aunt Stella and his "pardner," Phil. "I've got to go to town to-morrow," said the Dean. "I expect you better go along and get your trunk, or whatever you have and some sort of an outfit. You can't work in them clothes." Patches answered hesitatingly. "Why, I think I can get along all right, Mr. Baldwin." 76 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "But you'll want your stuff — your trunk or grip — or whatever you've got," returned the Dean. "But I have nothing in Prescott," said the stranger dowly. "You haven't ? Well, you'll need an outfit anyway," per- sisted the cattleman. "Beally, I think I can get along for a while," Patches returned diffidently. The Dean considered for a little; then he said with straightforward bluntness, but not at all unkindly, "Look here, young man, you ain't afraid to go to Prescott, are you ?" The other laughed. "Not at all, sir. It's not that. I feuppose I must tell you now, though. All the clothes I have are on my back, and I haven't a cent in the world with which to buy an outfit, as you call it." The Dean chuckled. "So that's it ? I thought mebby you was dodgin' the sheriff. If it's just plain broke that's the matter, why you'll go to town with me in the mornin', an' we'll get what you need. I'll hold it out of your wages until it's paid." As though the matter were settled, he turned back toward the house, adding, "Phil will show you where you're to sleep." When the foreman had shown the new man to his room, the cowboy asked casually, "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." 11 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" "Do you mean to say that you spent the night up there on the Divide without 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 asking questions 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, why didn't you go to Mr. Baldwin in town ? Anybody could have pointed him out to you. Or, why didn't you say something to me, when we were talking back there on the Divide ?'.' "Why, you see," explained the other lamely, "I didn't exactly want to work on the Cross-Triangle, or anywhere." "But you told "Uncle Will that you wanted to work here, and you were on your way when I met you." "Yes, I know, but you see — oh, hang it all, Mr. Acton, haven't you ever wanted to do something that you didn't want to do ? Haven't you ever been caught in a corner that you were simply forced to get out of when you didn't like the only way that would get you out? I don't mean anything criminal," he added, with a short laugh. "Yes, I have," returned the other seriously, "and if yon don't mind there'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. 78 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" "Why in the name of all the obstinate fools that roam at large did you walk out here when you must have had plenty of chances to ride ?" "Well, you see," said Patches slowly, "I fear I can't explain, but it was just a part of my job." "Your job ! But you didn't have any job until this after- noon." "Oh, yes, I did. I had the biggest kind of a job. You see, thafs what I was doing on the Divide all night; trying to find some other way to do it." "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 bay horse out there." Phil laughed aloud — a hearty laugh of good-fellowship. "You'll do that all right." "Do you think so, really," asked Patches, eagerly. "Sure; I know it." "I wish I could be sure," returned the strange man doubt- fully — and the cowboy, 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 other impulsively. Then, as if he regretted his Words, he asked quickly, "Do you name your horses ?" "Sure," answered the cowboy; "we generally find some- thing to call them." "And have you named the big bay yet V 79 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Phil laughed. "I named him yesterday, when he broke away as we were bringing 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 a»hil. "Good-night!" 80 ./to i: " — A BIT OP THE PAST. ■r^u [HE next morning Mr. Baldwin and Patches set out for town. "I suppose," said the Dean, and a slightly curious tone colored the remark, "that mebby you've )een used to automobiles. Buck and Prince here, an' this old buckboard will seem sort of slow to you." Patches was stepping into the rig as the Dean spoke. As the young man took his seat by the cattleman's side, the Dean nodded to Phil who was holding the team. At the signal Phil released the horses' heads and stepped aside, whereupon Buck and Prince, of one mind, looked back over their shoul- ders, made a few playful attempts to twist themselves out of the harness, lunged forward their length, stood straight up on their hind feet, then sprang away as if they were fully determined to land that buckboard in Prescott within the next fifteen minutes "Did you say slow ?" questioned Patches, as he clung to his seat. 81 WKEN A MAN'S A MAN The Dean chuckled and favored his new man with a twinkling glance of approval. A few seconds later, on the other side of the sandy wash, the Dean skillfully checked their headlong career, with a narrow margin of safety between the team and the gate. "I reckon we'll get through with less fuss if you'll open it," he said to Patches. Then to Buck and Prince: "Whoa! you blamed fools. Can't you stand a minute ?" "Stella's been devilin' me to get a machine ever since Jim Eeid got his," he continued, while the horses were repeating their preliminary contortions, and Patches was regaining- his seat. "But I told her I'd be scared 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 front wheels of the buckboard left the ground. Patches glanced sidewise at his employer, with a smile of delighted appreciation, but said nothing. The Dean liked him for that. The Dean always insists that the hardest man in the world to talk to is the one who always has something to say for himself. "Why," he continued, with a burst of honest feeling, "if I was ever to bring one of them things home to the Cross- Triangle, Pd be ashamed to look a horse or steer in the face." They dashed through a patch of wild sunflowers that in the bottom lands grow thick and rank; whirled past the tumble-down corner of an old fence that enclosed a long neg- lected garden; and dashed recklessly through a deserted and WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN weed-grown yard. On one side of the road was the ancient barn and stable, with sagging, weather-beaten roof, leaning .walls and battered doors that hung dejectedly on their rusty and broken hinges. The corral stockade was breached in many places by the years that had rotted the posts. The old- time windlass pump that, operated by a blind burro, once lifted water for the long vanished herds, was a pathetic old wreck, incapable now of offering drink to a thirsty sparrow. On their other hand, beneath the wide branches of giant syca- mores and walnuts, and backed by a tangled orchard wilder- ness, stood an old house, empty and neglected, as if in the shadowy gloom of the untrimmed trees it awaited, lonely and forlorn, the kindly hand of oblivion. "This is the old Acton homestead," said the Dean quietly, as one might speak beside an ancient grave. Then as they were driving through the narrow lane that crosses the great meadow, he indicated with a nod of his head a group of buildings on the other side of the green fields, and something less than a. mile to the south. "That's Jim Eeid's place. His iron is the Pot-Hook-S. Jim's stock runs on the old Acton range, but the homestead belongs to Phil yet. Jim Keid's a fine man." The Dean spoke stoutly, almost as though he were making the assertion to convince himself. "Yes, sir, Jim's all right. Good neigh- bor; good cowman; square as they make 'em. Some folks seem to think he's a mite over-bearin' an' rough-spoken some- times, and he's kind of quick at suspicionin' everybody; but Jim and me have always got along the best kind." 83 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Again the Dean was silent, at though he had forgotten the man beside him in his occupation with thoughts that he could not share. When they had crossed the valley meadows and, climbing the hill on the other side, could see the road for several miles ahead, the Dean pointed to 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's learnin' to run the thing is about all the returns that Jim can show for the money he's spent in educatin' her. I don't mean," he added, with a quick look at Patches, as though he feared to be misunderstood, "that Kitty's one of them good-for-nothin' butterfly girls. She ain't that by a good deal. Why, she was raised right here in this neighborhood, an' we love her the same as if she was our own. She can cook a meal or make a dress 'bout as well as her mother, an' does it, too ; an' she can ride a horse or throw a rope better'n some punchers I've seen, but — " The Dean stopped, seemingly for want of words to express exactly hia thought. "It seems to me," offered Patches abstractedly, "that edu- cation, as we call it, is a benefit only when it adds to one's life. If schooling or culture, or whatever you choose to term it, is permitted to rob one of the fundamental and essential elements of life, it is most certainly an evil." "That's the idea," exclaimed the Dean, with frank admi- ration for his companion's ability to say that which he himself thought. "You say it like a book. But that's it. It ain't the learnin' an' all the stuff that Kitty got while she was at 84 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAIT school that's worryin' us. It's what she's likely to lose through gettin' 'em. This here modern, down-to-the-minute, higher livin', loftier sphere, intellectual supremacy idea ia all right if folks'll just keep their feet on the ground. "You take Stella an' me now. I know we're old fashioned an' slow an' all that, an' we've seen a lot of hardships since we was married over in Skull 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 seen about as hard times as anybody. At least that's what they would be called now. But, hell, we didn't think nothin' of it then ; we was happy, 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 more than a lot of these higher-cultured, top-lofty, half-dead couples that marry 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 he keeps. And these folks that are swoppin' the old-fashioned sort of love that builds homes and raises fam- ilies and lets man and wife work together, an' meet trouble together, an' be happy together, an' grow old bein' 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, as educatin' a man or woman plumb out of reach of happiness. "Look at our Phil," the Dean continued, for the man beside him was a wonderful listener. "There just naturally couldn't be a better all round man than Phil Acton. He's 85 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN healthy; don't know what it is to have an hour's sickness J strong as a young bull ; clean, honest, square, no bad habits, a fine worker, an' a fine thinker, too — even if he ain't had much schooling he's read a lot. Take him any way you like — just as a man, I mean — an' that's the way you got to take 'em — there ain't a better man that Phil livin'. Tet a lot of these folks would say he's nothin' but a cow-puncher. As for that, Jim Keid ain't much more than a cow-puncher him- self. I tell you, I've seen cow-punehers that was mighty good men, an' I've seen graduates from them there universities that was plumb good for nothin' — with no more real man about 'em than there is about one of these here wax dummies that they hang clothes on in the store windows. What any self-respectin' woman can see in one of them that would make her want to marry him is more than I've ever been able to figger out." If the Dean had not been so engrossed in his own thoughts, he would have wondered at the strange effect of his words upon his companion. The young man's face flushed scarlet, then paled as though with sudden illness, and he looked side- wise at the older man with an expression of shame and humil- iation, while his eyes, wistful and pleading, were filled with pain. Honorable Patches who had won the admiration of those men in the 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 tha other's silence, he continued his dissertation. "Of course, I don't mean to say that education and that sort of thing spoil} 86 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN every man. Now, there's young Stanford Manning — " If the Dean had suddenly fired a gun at Patches, the young man could not have shown greater surprise and con- sternation. "Stanford Manning!" he gasped. At his tone the Dean turned to look at him curiously. "I mean Stanford Manning, 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 three years ago — straight from college — and he has sure made good. He's got the education an' culture an' polish an' all that, an' with it he can hold his own among any kind or sort of men livin'. There ain't a man — cow-puncher, miner or anything else — in Yavapai County that don't take off his hat to Stanford Manning." "Is he in this country now?" asked Patches, with an effort at self-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 prop- erties up in Montana, I heard." When his companion made no comment, the Dean said reflectively, as Buck and 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. I can remember when there wasn't a fence in all Yavapai County — hardly in the Territory. And now — why the last time I drove over to Skull Valley I got 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 to Date Creek 87 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN without ever openin' a gate. But I can't see that men change much, though. They're good and bad, just like they've always been — an' I reckon always will be. There's been leaders and weaklin's and just betwixt and betweens in every herd of cattle or band of horses that ever I owned. Tou take Phil, now. He's exactly like his daddy was before him." "His father must have been a fine man," said Patches, with quiet earnestness. The Dean looked . at him with an approving twinkle. "Fine ?" For a few minutes, as they were rounding the turn of the road on the summit of th& Divide where Phil and the stranger had met, the Dean looked away toward Granite Mountain. Then, as if thinking aloud, rather than pur- posely addressing his companion, he said, "John Acton — Honest John, as everybody called him — and I came to this country together when we were boys. Walked in, sir, with some pioneers from Kansas. We kept in touch with each other all the while we was growin' to be men ; punched cattle for the same outfits most of the time; even did most of our courtin' together, for Phil's mother an' Stella were neighbors an' great friends over in Skull Valley. When we'd finally saved enough to get started we located homesteads close together back there in the Valley, an' as soon as we could get some sort of shacks built we married the girls and set up housekeepin'. Our stock ranged together, of course, but John sort of took 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, but only Phil lived — an' the 88 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN stock had increased an' we'd built some decent houses, things seemed to be about as fine as possible. Then John went on a 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 best hearted men that ever lived — one of those men, you know, that just naturally 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 to go. An' it wasn't more than a year after that till Mary died. We never did know just what was the matter with her — an' after that it seemed like John never was the same. He got killed in the rodeo that same fall — just wasn't himself somehow. I was with him when he died. "Stella and me raised Phil — we don't know any differ- ence between him and one of our own boys. The old home- stead is his, of course, but Jim Reid's stock runs on the old range. Phil's got a few head that he works with mine — a pretty good bunch by now — for he's kept addin' to what his father left, an' Pve paid him wages ever since he was big enough. Phil don't say much, even to Stella an' me, but I know he's figurin' on fixin' up the old home place some day." After a long silence the Dean said again, as if voicing some conclusion of his unspoken thoughts: "Jim Eeid is pretty well fixed, you see, an' Kitty bein' the only girl, it's natural, I reckon, that they should have ideas about her future, an' all that. I reckon it's natural, too, that the girl should find ranch life away out here so far from anywhere, * WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" little slow after her three years at school in the East. She never says it, but somehow you can most always tell what Kitty's thinkin' without her speakin' a word." "I have known people like that," said Patches, probably because there was so little that he could say. "Yes, an' when you know Kitty, you'll say, like I always have, that if there's a man in Yavapai County that wouldn't ride the hoofs off the best horse in his outfit, night or day, to win a smile from her, he ought to be lynched." That afternoon in Prescott they purchased an outfit for Patches, and the following 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 meadow lane, when they saw a young woman, on a black horse, riding away from the 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 the men were coming from the corrals. "Kitty's been over all the afternoon," Little Billy in- formed them promptly. "I told her all about you, Patahes. She says she's just dyin' to see you." Phil joined in the laugh, but Patches fancied that there was a shadow in the 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." HE 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 odd jobs about the ranch, from cleaning the pig pen to weeding the garden, were the text books. The man balked at nothing. Indeed, he seemed to find a curious, grim satis- faction in accomplishing the most menial and disagreeable tasks ; and when he made mistakes, as he often did, he laughed at himself with such bitter, mocking humor that the Dean wondered. "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 stroke of work before in his life. But he seems to be always tryin' experiments with himself, like he expected himself to play the fool one way or another, an' wanted to see if he would, an' then when he don't he's as sur- prised and tickled as a kid." The Dean himself was not at all above assisting his new 91 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" man in those experiments, and so it happened that day when Patches had been set to repairing 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 wandered in from the near-by range to water at the house corral.' But Phil and his helpers were in possession of the premises near the watering trough, and his shorthorn majesty was therefore even more than usual out of patience with the whole world. The corrals were between the bull and Patches, so that the animal had not noticed the man, and the Dean, chuckling to himself, and without attracting Patches' attention, quietly drove the ill-tempered beast into the enclosure and shut the gate. Then, riding around the corral, the Dean called to the young man. When Patches stood beside his employer, the cattleman said, "Here's a blamed old bull that don't seem to be feelin' very well. I got him into the corral all right, but I'm so fat I can't reach him from the saddle. I wish you'd just halter him with this rope, so I can lead him up to the house and let Phil and the boys see what's wrong with him." Patches took the rope and started toward the corral gate. "Shall I put it 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 acquired knowledge of ropes and horses and things. "No, just tie it around his horns," the Dean answered. "He'll come, all right." 92 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN The bull, seeing a man on foot at the entrance to his prison, rumbled a deep-voiced threat, and pawed the earth with angry strength. For an instant, Patches, with his hand on tho latch of the gate, paused to glance from the dangerous-looking animal, that awaited his coming, to the Dean who sat on his horse just outside the fence. Then he slipped inside the corral and closed the gate behind him. The bull gazed at him a moment as if amazed at the audacity of this mere human, then lowered his 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 came all right, didn't he ?" The Dean's full rounded front and thick shoulders shook with laughter, while Sefior Bull dared the man on the gate to come down. "You crazy fool," said the Dean admiringly, when he could speak. "Didn't you 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 enough to tackle him." "To tell the truth," returned Patches, with a happy laugh, "that's exactly what interested me." But, while the work assigned to Patches during those first 93 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Says of his stay on the Cross-Triangle was chiefly those odd jobs which called for little or no experience, his higher educa- tion was by no means neglected. A wise and gentle old cow- horse was assigned to him, and the Dean taught him the various parts of his equipment, their proper use, and how to care for them. And every day, sometimes in the morning, sometimes late in the afternoon, the master found some errand or business that would necessitate his pupil riding with him. When Phil or Mrs. Baldwin would inquire about the Dean's kindergarten, as they called it, the Dean would laugh with them, but always he would say stoutly, "Just you wait. He'll be as near ready for the rodeo this fall as them pupils in that kindergarten of Phil's. He takes to ridin' like the good Lord had made him specially for that particular job. He's just a natural-born horseman, or I don't know men. He's got the sense, he's got the nerve, an' he's got the dis- position. He's goin' to make a top hand in a few months, if" — he always added with twinkling eyes — "he don't get himself killed tryin' some fool experiment on himself." "I notice just the same that he always has plenty of help in his experimentin'," Mrs. Baldwin would return dryly, which saying indicted not 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 assured him — 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 rode out with his pupil early that morning to where the drift fence begins at the corner of the big pasture, and explained that "riding 94 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN a fence" meant, in ranch language, looking for breaks and repairing any such when found, he did not explain the pecu- liarities of that particular kind of fence. "I told him to be sure and be back by night," he chuckled, as he explained Patches' absence at dinner to the other mem- bers of the household. "That was downright mean of you, Will Baldwin," chided Stella, with her usual motherly interest in the comfort of her boys. "You know the poor fellow will lose himself, sure, out in that wild Tailholt Mountain country." The boys laughed. "We'll find him in the morning, all right, mother," reas- sured Phil. "He can follow the fence back, can't he ?" retorted the Dean. "Or, as far as 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 some- thin' about the country, an' he'll learn somethin' about fences, an' mebby he'll learn somethin' about horses. An' we'll see whether he can use his own head or not. There's nothin' like givin' a man a chance to find out things for himself some- times. Besides, think what a chance he'll have for some of his experiments ! I'll bet a yearling steer that when we do see him again, he'll be tickled to death at himself an' won- derin' how he had the nerve to do it." "To do what ?" asked Mrs. Baldwin. "I don't know what," chuckled the Dean ; "but he's bound 95 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" to do some fool thing or other just to see if he can, and it'll be sometbin' that nobody but him would ever think of doin', too." But Honorable Patches did not get lost that day — that is, not too badly lost. There was a time, though — but that does not belong just here. Patches was very well pleased with the task assigned to him that morning. 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 would take 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 — and armed with a fencing tool and staples. He was armed, too, with a brand-new "six-gun" in a spick and span holster, on a shiny belt of bright cartridges. The Dean had insisted on this, alleging that the embryo 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, or how he was to diagnose the case to ascei* tain if she were sick enough to kill. The first thing he did, when the Dean was safely out of sight, was to dismount and examine his saddle girth. Always your real king of the cattle range is careful for the founda- tion of his throne. But there was no awkwardness, now, when he again swung to his seat. The young man was in reality a natural athlete. His work had already taken the soreness and stiffness out of his unaccustomed muscles, and he seemed, 96 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN as the Dean had said, a born horseman. And as he rode, he looked about over the surrounding country with an expression of independence, freedom and fearlessness very different from the manner of the troubled man who had faced Phil Acton that night on the Divide. It was as though the spirit of the land was already working its magic within this man, too. He patted the holster at his side, felt the handle of the gun, lov- ingly fingered the bright cartridges in his shiny belt, leaned sidewise to look admiringly down at his fringed, leather chaps and spur ornamented boot heels, and wished for his xiata — not forgetting, meanwhile, to scan the fence for places that might need his attention. The guardian angel who cares for the "tenderfoot" was good to Patches that day, and favored him with many sagging wires and leaning or broken posts, so that he could not rids far. Being painstaking and conscientious in his work, he had made not more than four miles by the beginning of the after- noon. Then he found a break that would occupy him for two hours at least. With rueful eyes he surveyed the long stretch of dilapidated fence. It was time, he reflected, that the Dean sent someone to look after his property, and dis- mounting, he went to work, forgetting, in his interest in the fencing problem, to insure his horse's near-by attendance. Now, the best of cow-horses are not above taking advan- tage of their opportunities. Perhaps Snip felt that f encerid- ' ing with a tenderfoot was a little beneath the dignity of his- cattle-punching years. Perhaps he reasoned that this man who was always doing such strange things was purposely di*-- WHEN A MAN'S A MAN missing him. Perhaps he was thinking of the long watering trough and the rich meadow grass at home. Or, perhaps again, the wise old Snip, feeling the responsibility of his part in training the Dean's pupil, merely thought to give his inexperienced master a lesson. However it happened, Patches looked up from his work some time later to find himself alone. Tn consternation, he stood looking about, striving to catch a glimpse of the vanished Snip. Save a lone buzzard that wheeled in curious circles above his head there was no living thing in sight. As fast as his heavy, leather chaps and high-heeled, spur- ornamented boots would permit, he ran to the top of a knoll a hundred yards or so away. The wider range of country that came thus within the circle of his vision was as empty as it was silent. The buzzard wheeled nearer — the strange looking creature beneath it seemed so helpless that there might be in the situation something of vital interest to the tribe. Even buzzards must be about their business. There are few things more humiliating to professional riders of the range than to be left afoot; and while Patches was far too much a novice to have acquired the peculiar and -traditional tastes and habits of the clan of which he had that morning felt himself a member, he was, in this, the equal of the best of them. He thought of himself walking shame- faced into the presence of the Dean and reporting the loss of the horse. The animal might be recovered, he supposed, for he was still, Patches thought, inside the pasture which that fence enclosed. Still there was a chance that the runaway WHEN A MAN'S A MAN flrould escape through some break and never be found. In any case the vision of the grinning cowboys was not an attrac- tive one. But at least, thought the amateur cowboy, he could finish 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 the fence around the field and so back to the lane that would lead him to the 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 a post. The country was growing wilder and more broken, with cedar timber on the ridges and here and there a pine. Occasionally he could catch a glimpse of the black, forbidding walls of Tailholt Mountain. But Patches did not know that it was Tailholt. He only thought that he knew in which direction the home ranch lay. It seemed to him that it was a long, long way to the corner of the field — it must be a big pasture, indeed. The afternoon was well on when he paused on the summit of another ridge to rest. It seemed to him that he had never in all his life been quite so warm. His legs ached. He was tired and thirsty and hungry. It was so still 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 if he camped three nights on the journey. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, waving his hat, hallooing 99 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN and yelling like 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 vain Patches strove to attract their attention. If they heard him, they gave no sign, and presently he saw them turn, ride in among the cedars, and disappear. In desperation he ran along the fence, down the hill, across the narrow little valley, and up the ridge over which the riders had gone. On the top of the ridge he stopped again, to spend the last of his breath in another series of wild shouts. But there was no answer. Nor could he be sure, even, which way the horsemen had gone. Dropping down in the shade of a cedar, exhausted by his strenuous exertion, and wet with honest perspiration, he struggled for breath and fanned his hot face with his hat. Perhaps he even used some of the cowboy words that he had heard Curly and Bob employ when Little Billy was not around. After the noise of his frantic efforts, the silence was more 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, or was it all just a part of the magic of that wonderful land 2 A young woman was riding toward him — coming at an easy swinging lope — and, follow- ing, at the end of a riata, was the cheerfully wise and phil- osophic Snip. Patches' first thought — when he had sufficiently recovered from his amazement to think at all — was that the woman rode 100 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN as he had never seen a woman ride before. Dressed in the divided skirt of corduroy, the loose, soft, gray shirt, gaunt- leted gloves, mannish felt hat, and boots, usual to Arizona horsewomen, she seemed as much at ease in the saddle as any cowboy in the land ; and, indeed, she was. As she came up the slope, the man in the shade of the cedar saw that she was young. Her lithe, beautifully de- veloped body yielded to the movement of the spirited horse she rode with the unspoiled grace of health and youth. Still nearer, and he saw her clear cheeks glowing with the exercise and excitement, her soft, brown hair under the wide brim of the gray sombrero, and her dark eyes, shining with the fun of her adventure. Then she saw him, and smiled ; and Patches remembered what the Dean had said: "If there's a man in Yavapai County who wouldn't ride the hoofs off the best horse in bis outfit to win a smile from Kitty Keid, he ought to be lynched." As tbe man stood, hat in hand, she checked her horse, and, in a voice that matched the smile so full of fun and the clean joy of living greeted him. "You are Mr. Honorable Patches, are you not ?" Patches bowed. "Miss Eeid, I believe ?" She frankly looked her surprise. "Wby, how did you know me ?" "Your good friend, Mr. Baldwin, described you," he amiled. She colored and laughed to hide her slight embarrassment. "The dear old Dean is prejudiced, I fear." 101 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN "Prejudiced he may be," Patches admitted, "but his judg- ment is unquestionable. And," he added gently, as her face grew grave and her chin lifted slightly, "his confidence in any man might be considered an endorsement, don't you think?" "Indeed, yes," she agreed heartily, her slight coldness vanishing instantly. "The Dean and Stella told me all about you this afternoon, or I should not have ventured to intro- duce myself. I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Patches," she finished with a mock formality that was delightful. "And I am delighted to meet you, Miss Reid, for so manjj reasons that I can't begin to tell you of them," he responded laughing. "And now, may I ask what good magic brings you like a fairy in the story book to the rescue of a poor stranger in the hour of his despair ? Where did you find my faithless Snip ? How did you know where to find me ? Where is the Cross-Triangle Ranch ? How many miles is it to the nearest water ? Is it possible for me to get home in time for supper ?" Looking down at him she laughed as only Kitty Reid could laugh. "You're making fun of me," he charged; "they all do. And I don't blame them in the least; I have been laughing at myself all day." "I'll answer your last question first," she returned. "Yes, you can easily reach the Cross-Triangle in time for supper, if you start at once. I will explain, the magic as we ride." "You are going to show me the way ?" he cried eagerly, starting toward his horse. 102 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "I really think it would be best," she said demurely. "Now I know you are a good fairy, or a guardian angel, or something like that," he returned, setting his foot in the stirrup to mount. Then suddenly he paused, with, "Wait a minute, please. I nearly forgot." And very 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 when you left him, you wouldn't have needed a guardian angel this time," she said. 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 silly thing that I ought not. That's the only thing about myself that I am always perfectly sure of," he added as he mounted. "You see I can always depend upon myself to make a fool of myself. It was that bad place in the fence that did it." He pulled up his horse suddenly as they were starting. "And that reminds me ; there is one thing you positively must tell me before I can go a foot, even toward supper. How much farther is it 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 to lead me around the field and so back to where I started. That's why I kept on ; I thought I could finish the job and get home, even if Snip did compel me to ride the fence on foot." "But don't you know that this is a drift fence?" she asked, her eyes dancing with fun. 103 WHEN A HAN'S A MAN "That's what the Dean called it," he admitted. "But if it's drifting anywhere, it's going end on. Perhaps that's why I couldn't catch the corner." "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 shook her 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 the mountain peaks toward which he had been so labo- riously making his way. "Honestly, now, do you think that is any way for a respectable fence to act? And the Dean told me to be sure and get home before dark !" Then they laughed together — laughed until their horses must have wondered. As they rode on, she explained the purpose of the drift fence, and how it came to an end so many miles away and so far from water that the cattle 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, proper and perfectly sane. Please explain your coming with Snip to my relief." "Which was also unreasonable, unconventional and alto- gether foolish ?" she questioned. 1G4 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN ''Which was altogether wonderful, unexpected and de> lightful," he retorted. "It is all perfectly simple," she explained. "Being rather — " She hesitated. "Well, rather sick of too much of nothing at all, you know, I went over to the Cross-Triangle right after dinner to visit a little with Stella — professionally." "Professionally?" he asked. She nodded brightly. "For the good of my soul. Stella's a famous soul doctor. The best ever except one, and she lives far away — away back east in Cleveland, Ohio." "Yes, I know her, too," he said gravely. And while they laughed at the absurdity of his assertion, they did not know until long afterward how literally true it was. "Of course, I knew about you," she continued. "Phil told me how you tried to ride that unbroken horse, the last time he was at our house. Phil thinks you are quite a won- derful man." "No doubt," said Patches mockingly. "I must have given a remarkable exhibition on that occasion." He was wonder- ing just how much Phil had told her. "And so, you see," she continued, "I couldn't very well help being interested in the welfare of the stranger who had come among us. Besides, our traditional western hospitality demanded it; don't you think ?" "Oh, certainly, certainly. You could really do nothing less than inquire about me," he agreed politely. "And so, you see, Stella quite restored my soul healthj or at least afforded me temporary relief." 105 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN He met the quizzing, teasing, laughing look in her eyes blankly. "You are making fun of me again," he said humbly, "I know I ought to laugh at myself, but — " "Why, don't you understand?" she cried. "Dr. Stella administered a generous dose of talk about the only new thing that has happened in this neighborhood 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 roundabout way ; perhaps to the top of Black Hill ; perhaps up Horse Wash, where I might meet father, who would be on his way home from Fair Oaks where he went 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 to rob he** words of any im- plied criticism of his horsemanship. "Exactly," he agreed understandingly. "And I was afraid that something might have happened; though I couldn't sefc 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, wondering at his question. 106 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "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 from you. But Snip never could outrun my Midnight/' she retorted. He shook his head slowly, looking at her with frank admiration, as though, for the first time, he understood what a rare and wonderful creature she was. "And you can ride and rope like that?" he said doubt- fully. She flushed hotly, and there was a spark of fire in the brown eyes. "I suppose you are thinking that I am coarse and mannish and all that," she said with spirit. "By your standards, Mr. Patches, I should have ridden back to the house, screaming, ladylike, for help." "No, no," he protested. "That's not fair. I was think- ing how wonderful you are. Why, I would give — what wouldn't I give to be able to do a thing like that !" There was no mistaking his earnestness, and Kitty was all sunshine again, pardoning him with a smile. "You see," she explained, "I have always lived here, except my three years at school. Father taught me to use a riata, as he taught me to ride and shoot, because — well — because it's all a part of this life, and very useful sometimes ; just as it is useful to know about hotels and time-tables and taxicabs, in that other part of the world." 107 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" "I understand/' he said gently. "It was stupid of me to notice it. I beg your pardon for interrupting the story of my rescue. You had just roped Snip while he was doing his best to outrun Midnight — simple and easy as calling a taxi — 'Number Two Thousand Euclid Avenue, please' — and there you are." "Oh, do you know Cleveland ?" she cried. For an instant he was confused. Then he said easily, "Everybody has heard of the famous Euclid Avenue. But how did you guess where Snip had left me ?" "Why, Stella had told me that you were riding the drift fence," she answered, tactfully ignoring the evasion of her question. "I just followed 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 quite sure about anything. At least, I can't. But perhaps that's because I am such a new thing." "And do you like it ?" she asked, frankly curious aboufl 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," h« returned. "I never met such men before — or such women," he finished with a smile. "But, do you like it ?" she persisted. "Do you like the life — your work — would you be satisfied to live here always ?" 108 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Yes and No," he answered again, hesitatingly. "Oh, well," she said, with, he thought, a little bitterness and rebellion, "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 islse — make yourself a part of some other life." He shook his head, wondering a little at her earnestness. ■"That does not always follow. Can a man, just because he is a man, always have or do just what he likes ?" "If he's strong enough," she insisted. "But a woman must always do what other 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. Per- haps some sheriff wants me. Perhaps I am an escaped con- vict. Perhaps — oh, a thousand 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 jyou are not that sort of a man." "Are you sure you don't mean because I am not man enough to make myself wanted very badly, even by the sheriff ?" he asked, and Kitty could not mistake the bitterness in his voice. 109 WHEN A IfAITS A MAN "Why, Mr. Patches !" she cried. "How could you think I meant such a thing ? Forgive me ! I was only wondering foolishly what you, a man of education and culture, could find in this rough life that would appeal to you in any way. My curiosity is unpardonable, I suppose, but you must know that we are all wondering why you are here." "I do not blame you," he returned, with that self-mocking smile, as though he were laughing at himself. "I told you I -could always be depended upon to make a fool of myself. You see I am doing it now. I don't mind telling you this much — that I am here for the same reason that 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. "We part here. You can see the Cross-Triangle buildings yonder. I go this way." He looked his pleasure, as he clasped her hand in hearty anderstanding of the friendship offered. "Thank you, Miss Eeid. I still maintain that the Dean's judgment is unquestionable." She was not at all displeased with his reply. "By the way," she said, as if to prove her friendship. "I suppose you know what to expect from Uncle Will and tha boys when they learn of your little adventure ?" "I do," he answered, as if resigned to anything. 110 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "And do you enjoy making fun for them ?" "I assure you, Miss Keid, I am very human." "Well, then, why don't you turn the laugh on them f "But how?" "They are expecting you to get into some sort of a scrape, don't you think ?" "They are always expecting that. And," he added, with that droll touch in his voice, "I must say I rarely disappoint them." "I suspect," she continued, thoughtfully, "that the Dean purposely did not explain that drift fence to you." "He has established precedents that would justify my thinking so, I'll admit." "Well, then, why don't you ride cheerfully home and report the progress of your work as though nothing had hap- pened ?" "You mean that you won't tell ?" he cried. She nodded gaily. "I told them this afternoon that it wasn't fair for you to have no one but Stella on your side." "What a good Samaritan you are! You put me under an everlasting obligation to you." "All right," she laughed. "I'm glad you feel that way about it. I shall hold that debt against you until some day when I am in dreadful need, and then I shall demand pay- ment 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 111 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN made his way happily to the house to receive, with a guilty conscience but with a light heart, congratulations and compli- ments upon his safe return. That evening Phil disappeared somewhere, in the twi- light. And a little later Jim Eeid rode into the Cross-Tri- angle dooryard. The owner of the Pot-Hook-S was a big man, tall and heavy, outspoken and somewhat gruff, with a manner that to strangers often seemed near to overbearing. When Patches was introduced, the big cattleman looked him over suspi- ciously, spoke a short word in response to Patches' common- place, and abruptly turned his back to converse with the better-known members of the household. For an hour, perhaps, they chatted about matters of gen- eral interest, as neighbors will; then the caller arose to go, and the Dean walked with him to his horse. When the two men were out of hearing of the people on the porch Eeid asked in a low voice, "Noticed any stock that didn't look right lately, Will ?" "No. You see, we haven't been ridin' scarcely any since the Fourth. Phil and the boys have been busy with the horses every day, an' this new man don't count, you know." "Who is he, anyway ?" asked Eeid 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, 112 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN when you eome to think about it. We ain't just never hap- pened 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, but willin', 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 was strangers when I hired 'em. Bein' a straager ain't nothin' against a man. You and me would be strangers if we was to go many miles from Williamson Valley. Patches is a good man, I tell you. I'll stand for him, all right. Why, he's been out all day, alone, ridin' the drift fence, just as good as 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 after* noon, not four hundred yards from the fence on the Tailholt side, fresh-branded with the Tailholt iron, an' I'll bet a thou- sand dollars it belongs to a Cross-Triangle cow." "What makes you think it was mine?" asked the Dean calmly. "Because it looked mighty like some of your Hereford stock, an' because I came on through the Horse Wash gate, an' about a half mile on this side, 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' 113 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN that drift fence," returned Jim significantly, as he mounted his horse to go. "You're plumb wrong, Jim," returned the Dean earnestly. "Why, the man don't know a Crose-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." 114 THINGS THAT ENDURE. fKEN" Kitty Eeid told Patches that it was her soul sickness, from too much of nothing at all, that had sent her to visit Mrs. Baldwin that after- noon, 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 whom she 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 of people and books and those things of which the Williamson Valley folk knew so little. But as she rode slowly homeward after leaving Patches, she found herself of two minds regarding the incident. She had enjoyed meeting the man; he had interested and amused her; had taken her out of herself, for she was not slow t» recognize that the man really did belong to that world which was so far from the world of her childhood. And she was glad for the little adventure that, for one afternoon, at least, had broken the dull, wearying monotony of her daily life. But +He stranger, by the very fact of his belonging to that 115 WHEN" A MAN'S A MA¥ other world, had stimulated her desire for those things which in her home life and environment she so greatly missed. He had somehow seemed to magnify the almost unbearable com- monplace narrowness of her daily routine. He had made her even more restless, disturbed and dissatisfied. It had been to her as when one in some foreign country meets a citizen from one's old home town. And for this Kitty was genuinely sorry. She did not wish to feel as she did about 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. She had wished many times, since her return from the East, that she had never left her home for those three years in school. And yet, those years had meant much to her ; they had been wonderful years ; but they seemed, some- how — now that they were past and she was home again — to have brought her only that unrest and longing. Erom the beginning of her years until that first great crisis in her life — her going away to school — this world into which she was born had been to Kitty an all-sufficient world. The days of her childhood had been as carefree and joyous, almost, as the days of the young things of her father's roam- ing herds. As her girlhood years advanced, under her mother's wise companionship and careful teaching, she had grown into her share of the household duties and into a knowledge of woman's part in the life to which she belonged, as naturally as her girlish form had put on the graces of young woman- hood. The things that filled the days of her father and mother, and the days of her neighbors and friends, had filled her days. The things that were all in all to those she loved 116 WHEN A MAN'S A" MAN had been all in all to her. And always, through those years, from her earliest childhood to her young womanhood, there was Phil, her playmate, schoolmate, protector, hero, slave. That Phil should he her boy sweetheart and young man lover had seemed as natural to Kitty as her relation 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 life that called from every bush and tree and grassy hill and distant mountain, there was sweet regret, deep and sincere, for those years that were now, to her, so irrevocably gone. Kitty did not know how impossible it was for her to ever wholly escape the things that belonged to her childhood and youth. Those things of her girlhood, out of which her heart and soul had been fashioned, were as interwoven in the fabric of her being as the vitality, strength and purity of the clean, wholesome, outdoor life of those same years were wrought into the glowing health and vigor and beauty of her physical womanhood. And then had come those other years — the maturing, ripening years — when, from the simple, primitive and endur- ing elements of life, she had gone to live amid complex, culti- vated and largely fanciful standards and values. In that land of Kitty's birth a man is measured by the measure of his manhood ; a woman is ranked by the quality of her woman- hood. Strength and courage, sincerity, honesty, usefulness— these were the prime essentials of the man life that Kitty had, in those years of her girlhood, known ; and these, too, in their feminine expressions, were the essentials of the woman 117 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN life. But from these the young woman had gone to be edu- cated in a world where other things are of first importance. She had gone to be taught that these are not the essential ele- ments of manhood and womanhood. Or, at least, if she was not to be deliberately so taught, these things would be so ignored and neglected and overlooked in her training, that the effect on her character would be the same. In that new world she was to learn that men and women are not to be measured by the standards of manhood and womanhood — that they were to be rated, not for strength, but for culture; not for courage, but for intellectual cleverness ; not for sin- cerity, but for manners ; not for honesty, but for success ; not for usefulness, but for social position, which is most often determined by the degree of uselessness. It was as though the handler of gems were to attach no value whatever to the weight of the diamond itself, but to fix the worth of the stone wholly by the cutting and polish that the crystal might receive. At first, Kitty had been excited, bewildered and fascinated by the glittering, sparkling, ever-changing, many-faceted life. Then she had grown weary and homesick. And then, as the months had passed, and she had been drawn more and more by association and environment into the world of down-to- dateism she, too, began to regard the sparkle of the diamond as the determining factor in the value of the gem. And when the young woman had achieved this, they called her education finished, and sent her back to the land over which Granite Mountain, gray and grim and fortress-like, with its ranks of sentinel hills, keeps enduring and unchanging watch. 118 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN During those first glad days of Kitty's homecoming she had been eagerly interested in everything. The trivial bits of news about the small doings of her old friends had been delightful. The home life, with its simple routine and its sweet companionship, had been restful and satisfying. The very scenes of her girlhood had seemed to welcome her with a spirit of genuineness and steadfastness that had made her feel as one entering a safe home harbor after a long and adven- turous voyage to far-away and little-known lands. And Phil, in the virile strength of his manhood, in the simple bigness of his character, and in his enduring and unchanging love, had made her feel his likeness to the primitive land of his birth. But when the glad excitement of those first days of her return were past, when the meetings with old friends were over and the tales of their doings exhausted, then Kitty began to realize what her education, as they called it, really meant. The lessons of those three years were not to be erased from her life as one would erase a mistake in a problem or a mis- spelled word. The tastes, habits of thought and standards of life, the acquirement of which constituted her culture, would not be denied. It was inevitable that there should be a clash between the claims of her home life and the claims of that life to which she now felt 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 her girlhood had been the supreme things , in her life, but, try as she might, they were now, in com- parison with those things which her culture placed first, of trivial importance. The virile strength and glowing health 119 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN of Phil's unspoiled manhood — beautiful as the vigorous life of one of the wild horses from which he had his nickname — were overshadowed, now, by the young man's inability to clothe his splendid body in that fashion which her culture demanded. His simple and primitive views of life — as natural as the instinct which governs all creatures in his God-cultivated world — were now unrefined, ignoble, inelegant. His fine nature and unembarrassed intelligence, which found in the wealth of realities amid which he lived abundant food for his intellectual life, and which enabled him to see clearly, observe closely and think with such clean-cut directness, beside the intellectuality of those schooled in the thoughts of others, appeared as ignorance and illiteracy. The very fineness and gentleness of his nature were now the distin- guishing marks of an uncouth and awkward rustic. With all her woman heart Kitty had fought against these comparisons — and continued to make them. Everything in her nature that belonged to Granite Mountain — that was, in short, the product of that land — answered to Phil's call, as instinctively as the life of that land calls and answers its mating calls. Everything that she had acquired in those three years of a more advanced civilization denied and repulsed him. And now her meeting with Patches had stirred the warring forces to renewed activity, and in the distracting turmoil of her thoughts she found herself hating the land she loved, loathing the life that appealed to her with such insist- ent power, despising those whom she so dearly esteemed and honored, and denying the affection of which she was proud with a true woman's tender pride. 120 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Kitty was aroused from her absorption by the shrill boyish yells of her two younger brothers, who, catching sight of their sister from the top of one of the low hills that edge the meadow bottom lands, were charging recklessly down upon her. As the clatter and rumble of those eight flying hoofs drew nearer and nearer, Midnight, too, "came alive," as the cowboys say, and tossed his head 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 foot or two of his sister's horse. And, "We wanted you to go with us to see our coyote traps," reproved Conny — two years youuger than his brother — as his pinto executed a like maneuver on the other side of the excited Midnight. "And where is Jack?" asked the young woman mis- chievously, as she smilingly welcomed the vigorous lads. "Couldn't he help ?" Jack was the other member of the Keid trio of boys — a lusty four-year-old who felt himself equal to any venture that interested his brothers. ) Jimmy grinned. "Aw, mama coaxed him into the kitchen with something to eat while me and Conny sneaked down to the corral and saddled up and beat it." Big sister's dark eyebrows arched in shocked inquiry, "Me and Conny?" "That is, Conny and I," amended Jimmy, with good- natured tolerance of his sister's whims. 121 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "You see, Kitty," put in Oonny, "this here coyote trap- pin' ain't just fun. 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 as Jimmy stealthily nicked the long romal at the end of his bridle reins against Midnight's flank. "Gee !" observed the tickled youngster, as Kitty gave all her attention to restraining the fretting and indignant horse, "ol' Midnight is sure some 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 Oonny, leaning forward in his saddle and shortening his reins. "If I win, you boys go straight to bed to-night, when it's time, without fussing," 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 came floating back to where Kitty sat reining in her impatient Midnight. At the signal, the two ponies leaped from a lope into a full run, while Kitty loosed the restraining rein and the black horse stretched away in pursuit. Spur ring, shouting, entreating, the two lads urged their sturdy mounts toward the goal, and the pintos answered gamely with all that they had. Over knolls and washes, across arroyos and gullies they flew, sure-footed and eager, neck and neck, while behind them, drawing nearer and nearer, came 122 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN the black, with body low, head outstretched and limbs that moved apparently with the timed regularity and driving power of a locomotive's piston rod. As she passed them, Kitty shouted a merry "Come on!" which they answered with redoubled exertion and another yell of hearty boyish admira- tion for the victorious Midnight and his beautiful rider. "Doggone that black streak !" exclaimed Jimmy, his eyea dancing with fun as they pulled up at the corral gate. "He opens and shuts like a blamed ol' jack rabbit," com- mented Oonny. "Seemed like we was just a-sittin' still watchin' you go by." Kitty laughed, teasingly, and unconsciously slipped into the vernacular as she returned, "Did you kids think you were a-horseback ?" "You just wait, Miss," retorted the grinning Jimmy, as he opened the big gate. "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 big barn, he added generously, "You scoot on lip to the house, Kitty; I'll take care of Midnight. It must be gettin' near supper time, an' I'm hungry enough to eat a raw dog." At which alarming statement Kitty promptly scooted, stopping only long enough at the windmill pump for a cool, refreshing drink. Mrs. Eeid, with sturdy little Jack helping, was already busy in the kitchen. She was a motherly woman, rather below Kitty's height, and inclined somewhat to a comfortable stoutness. In her face was the gentle strength and patience 123 WHEN" A MAWS A MAN of those whose years have been spent in home-making, without the hardness that is sometimes seen in the faces of those whose love is not great enough to soften their toil. One knew by the light in her eyes whenever she spoke of Kitty, or, indeed, whenever the girl's name was mentioned, how large a place her only daughter held in her mother heart. While the two worked together at their homely task, the girl related in trivial detail the news of the neighborhood, and repeated faithfully the talk she had had with the mistress of the Cross-Triangle, answering all her mother's questions, replying with careful interest to the older woman's comments, relating all that was known or guessed, or observed regarding the stranger. But of her meeting with Patches, Kitty said little; only that she had met him as she was coming home. All during the evening meal, too, Patches was the principal topic of the conversation, though Mr. Eeid, who had arrived home just in time for supper, said little. When supper was over, and the evening work finished, Kitty sat on the porch in the twilight, looking away across the wide valley meadows, toward the light that shone where the walnut trees about the Cross-Triangle ranch house made a darker mass in the gathering gloom. Her father had gone to call upon the Dean. The men were at the bunk-house, from which their voices came low and indistinct. Within the house the mother was coaxing little Jack to bed. Jimmy and Conny, at the farther end of the porch, were planning an extensive campaign against coyotes, and investing the unearned profits of their proposed industry. Kitty's thoughts were many miles away. In that bright 124 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" and stirring life — so far from the gloomy stillness of her home land, where she sat so alone — what gay pleasures held her friends ? Amid what brilliant scenes were they spending the evening, while she sat in her dark and silent world alone ? As her memory pictured the lights, the stirring movement, the music, the merry-voiced talk, the laughter, the gaiety, the excitement, the companionship of those whose lives were bo full of interest, her heart rebelled at the dull emptiness of her days. As she watched the evening dusk deepen into the darkness of the night, and the outlines of the familiar land- scape fade and vanish in the thickening gloom, she felt the dreary monotony of the days and years that were to come, blotting out of her life all tone and color and forms of brightness and beauty. Then she saw, slowly emerging from the shadows of the meadow below, a darker shadow — mysterious, formless — that eeemed, as it approached, to shape itself out of the very dark- ness through which it came, until, still dim and indistinct, a horseman was opening the meadow gate. Before the cow- boy answered Jimmy's boyish "Hello!" Kitty knew that it was Phil. The young woman's first impulse was to retreat to the safe seclusion of her own room. But, even as she arose to her feet, she knew how that would hurt the man who had always been so good to her ; and so she went generously down the walk to meet him where he would dismount and leave his horse. "Did you see father?" she asked, thinking as she spoke how little there was for them to talk about. 125 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Why, no. What's the matter?" he returned quickly, pausing as if ready to ride again at her word. She laughed a little at his manner. "There is nothing the matter. He just went over to see the Dean, that's all." "I must have missed him crossing the meadow," returned Phil. "He always goes around by the road." Then, when he stood beside her, he added gently, "But there is something the matter, Kitty. What is it? Lone- some for the bright lights ?" That was always Phil's way, she thought. He seemed always to know instinctively her every mood and wish. "Perhaps I was a little lonely," she admitted. "I am glad that you came." Then they were at the porch, and her ambitious brothers were telling Phil in detail their all-absorbing designs against the peace of the coyote tribe, and asking his advice. Mrs. Eeid came to sit with them a-while, and again the talk followed around the narrow circle of their lives, until Kitty felt that she could bear no more. Then Mrs. Eeid, more merciful than she knew, sent the boys to bed and retired to her own room. "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 so often to fall upon them when they found themselves alone. "That's not quite fair, Phil," she returned gently. "You know it's not that." "Well, then, tired of this" — his gesture indicated the 126 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN sweep of the wide 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 seem mighty empty to those who don't really know it." "And don't I know it?" challenged Kitty. "You seem to forget that I was born 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. But now — well, I know it as a man, and you as a woman know something that you think is very different." Again that long silence lay a barrier between them. Then Kitty made the effort, 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, wny are you so satisfied here ? There is so little for a man like you." "So little !" His voice told her that her words had stung. "I told you that you did not know. Why, everything that a man itas a right to want is here. All that life can give any- where is here — I mean all of life that is worth having. But I suppose," he finished lamely, "that it's hard for you to see it that way — now. It's like trying to make a city man 12? WHEN A MAN'S A MAN •understand why a fellow is never lonesome just becausn there's no crowd around. I guess I love this life and am satisfied with it just as the wild horses over there at the foot of old Granite love it and are satisfied." "But don't you feel, sometimes, that if you had greater opportunities — don't you sometimes wish that you could live where — " She paused at a loss for words. Phil somehow always made the things she craved seem so trivial. "I know what you mean," he answered. "You mean, don't the wild horses wish that they could live in a fine stable, and have a lot of men to feed and take care of them, and rig them out with fancy, gold-mounted harness, 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 of a fool of himself. There's only one thing in the world that would make me 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, "You are 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 did not even look toward the corral where you knew I was at work ; and it seemed like all the heart went clear out of me. Oh, Kitty, girl, can't we bring back the old days as they were before you went away V WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Hush, Phil," she said, almost as she would have spokeat to one of her boy brothers. But he went on recklessly. "No, I'm going to speak to-night. Ever since you came home you have refused to listen to me — you have put me off — made me keep still. I want you to tell me, Kitty, if I were like Honorable 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 any difference 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 back East in some city that has made you change ?" "I have changed. I suppose, because I have become a Woman, Phil, as you have become a man." "Yes, I have become a man," he returned, "but I have not changed, except thi*. the boy's love has become a man's love. Would it make any difference,' Kitty, if you- cared more for the life here — I mean if you were 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 to like it ?" "Oh, Phil, I have tried. I do try," she cried. "But I don't think it's the life that I like or do not like that makes the difference. I am sure, Phil, that if I could" — she hesitated, then went on bravely — "if I could give you the 129 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN love you want, nothing else would matter. You said you could like any life that suited me. Don't you think that I could he satisfied 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, and without love no life can satisfy. I am glad you said that. It was what I wanted you to say. I know now what I have to do. I am like Patches. I have 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 make you love me — for myself — for just what I am — as a man — and not to try to be something or to live some way that I think you would like. It's the man that you must love, and not what he does or where he lives. Isn't that 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 the wild 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 130 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN moment facing each other, the woman felt his strength, and in her woman heart was glad — 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 the darkness out of which he had come seemed to take his shadowy form again to 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 laugh came from near by, and in the light of the stars Phil saw a man standing by the pasture fence. As he went toward the shadowy figure the voice of Patches followed the laugh. "I'll bet that was Stranger." "I know it was," answered Phil. "What's the matter that you're not in bed ?" "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 the cowboy. "I wish I could be as sure," the other returned doubt- felly. 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, aa 131 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN I am that you will win out with yours," returned Phi], Patches' voice was very kind as he said reflectively, "So, you have a job, too. I am glad for that." "Glad?" "Yes," the tall man placed a hand on the other's shoulder as they turned to Walk toward the house, "because, Phil, I have come to the conclusion that this old world is a mighty empty place for the man who has nothing to do." "But there seems to be a lot of fellows who. manage to keep fairly busy doing nothing, just the same, don't you think ?" replied Phil with a low laugh. "I said 'man'," retorted Patches, with emphasis. "That's right," agreed Phil. "A man just naturally requires a man's job." "And," mused Patches, "when it's all said and done, I suppose there's only one genuine, simon-pure, full-sized man's job in the world." "And I reckon that's right, too," returned the cowboy. 132 I $ AH- £01 E CHAPTER VIII. CONCERNING BRANDS. (FEW days after Jim Reid's evening visit to Dean two cowboys from the Diamond-and-d-Half outfit, on their way to Cherry Creek, stopped at the ranch for dinner. The well-known, open-handed Baldwin hospitality led many a passing rider thus aside from the main valley road and through the long meadow lane, to the Cross- Triangle tabla Always there was good food for man and horse, with a bed for those who came late in the day; and always there was a hearty welcome and talk under the walnut trees with the Dean. And in all that brgad land there was scarce a cowboy who, when riding th& range, would not look out for the Dean's cattle with almost the same interest and care that he gave to the animals bearing the brand of his own employer. So it was that these riders from the Tonto Flats country told the Dean that in looking over the Cross-Triangle cattle watering at Toohey they had seen several cases of screw- worms. ,133 WHEN" A MAST'S A MAN "We doped a couple of the worst, and branded a calf fop you," said "Shorty" Myers. And his companion, Bert Wilson, added, as though apologizing, "We couldn't stop any longer because we got to make it over to Wheeler's before 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 faces change 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 questioningly from the face of Patches to the Dean and then to Phil. Phil smiled his endorsement of the stranger, and "Shorty" said, "We found a couple of fresh-branded calves what didn't seem to have no mothers last week, and Bud Stillwell says some things look kind o' funny over in the D.l neighborhood." Another significant silence followed. To Patches, it seemed as the brooding hush that often precedes a storm. He had not missed those questioning looks of the visitors, and had seen Phil's smiling endorsement, but he could not, of course, understand. He could only wonder and wait, for he felt intuitively that he must not speak. It was as though 134 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN these strong men who had received him so generously into their lives put him, now, outside their circle, while they con- sidered business of grave moment to themselves. "Well, boys," said the Dean, as if to dismiss the subject, "I've been in this cow business a good many years, now, an' I've seen all kinds of men come an' go, but I ain't never seen the man yet that could get ahead very 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 was their turn to wonder. The Dean looked straight into the dark eyes that were so filled with painful memories, and wistful desire. "Sir ?" "I mean," said Patches, embarrassed, as though he had spoken involuntarily, "that what you say applies to those who live idly — doing no useful work whatever — as well as to those who are dishonest in business of any kind, or who deliberately steal outright. Don't you think so ?" The Dean — his eyes still fixed on the face of the new man — answered slowly, "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't earned has to pay for it." "Who is he?" asked the visitors of Curly and Bob, as they went for their horses, 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 haudiest man with his fists that's ever been 135 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN" in this neck of the woods. If you don't believe it, just jon otart something," added Curly 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 creden- tials to make any name that he wants to wear good enough for me." The visitors mounted their horses, and sat looking ap- praisingly at the tall figure of Honorable Patches, as that gentleman passed them at a little distance, on his way to the barn. "Mebby you're right," admitted "Shorty," "but he sure talks like a schoolmarm, don't he ?" "He sure ain't no puncher," commented Bert. "No, but I'm gamblin' that he's goin' to be," retorted Curly, ignoring the reference to Patches' culture. "Me, too," agreed Bob. "Well, we'll all try him out this fall rodeo" ; and "better not let him drift far from the home ranch for a while," laughed the visitors. "So long !" 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 give my school a little vacation, and Uncle Will thinks it's time you were out of the kindergarten." 136 WHEN A 15AWS A MANT Later, as they were crossing the big pasture toward the country that lies to the south, the foreman volunteered the further information that for 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 the talk 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 his ignorance, for he made no pretenses whatever, but his reticence seemed, rather, the result of a curious feeling of shame that he had so little in 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 like him. Men who live in such close daily touch with the primitive realities of life, and who thereby acquire a simple directness, with a certain native modesty, have no place in their hearts for — to use their own picturesque vernacular — a "four-flusher." Phil tactfully did not even smile at the question, but answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "To look out for screw- Worms, brand a calf here and there, keep the water holes open, and look out for the stock generally." "And you mean," questioned Patches doubtfully, "that I am to ride with you ?" "Sure. You see, Uncle Will thinks you are too good a man to waste on the odd jobs around the place, and so I'm going to get you in shape for the rodeo this fall." 137 WEEK A MAN'S A MAST 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. "And you — what do you think ahout it, Phil ?" he demanded. The cowboy laughed at the man's eagerness. "Me ? Oh, I think just as I have thought all the time — ever since you asked for a job that day in the 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 to hunger so for a man's work, and a place among men. Just outside the Deep Wash gate of the big pasture, a few cattle were grazing in the open flat. As the men rode toward them, Phil took down his riata while Patches watched him questioningly. "We may as well begin right here," said the cowboy. "Do you see anything peculiar about anything in that bunch?" Patches studied the cattle in vain. "What about that calf yonder ?" suggested Phil, leisurely opening the loop of his rope. "I mean that six-months youngster with the white face." 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 the 138 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Cross-Triangle," returned the pupil proudly, and in the same breath he exclaimed, "He is not branded either." Phil smiled approval. "That's right, and we'll just fix him now, before somebody else beats us to him." He moved his horse slowly toward the cattle as he spoke. "But," exclaimed Patches, "how do you know that he belongs to the Cross-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 happen to remember that particular calf, in the rodeo last spring. He got away from us, with his mother, in the cedars and brush over near the head of Mint Wash. That's one of the things that you have to learn in this busi- ness, 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, you know — I have a few head running with Uncle Will's." Even as he spoke, the calf, frightened at their closer approach, ran to a cow that was branded as Phil had said, and the cow, with unmistakable maternal interest in her off- spring, proved the ownership of the calf. "You see?" said Phil. "We'll get that fellow now, because before the next rodeo he'll be big enough to leave his mother, and then, if he isn't branded, he'll be a maverick, and will belong to anybody that puts an iron on him." "But couldn't someone brand him now, with their brand, 139 WHEN - A MAN'S A MAW and drive him away from his mother?" asked Patches. "Such things have been known to happen, and that not a thousand miles from 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 simpering affectation. Then he watched with admiration while the cowboy sent his horse after the calf and, too quickly for an inexperienced eye to see just how it was done, the deft riata stretched the animal by the heels. With a short "hog- ging" rope, which he carried looped through a hole cut in the edge of his chaps near the belt, Phil tied the feet of his victim, before the animal had recovered from the shock of the fall ; and then, with Patches helping, proceeded to build a small fire of dry grass and leaves and sticks from a near-by bush. From his saddle, Phil took a small iron rod, flattened at one end, and only long enough to permit its being held in the gloved hand when the flattened end was hot — a running iron, he called it, and explained to his interested pupil, as he thrust it into the fire, how some of the boys used an iron ring for range branding. "And is there no way to change or erase a brand ?" asked Patches, while the 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 : ^ ; and this : yyvi , the Four-Bar-M, happens to be Nick Oambert'a iron, over at Tailholt Mountain. Now, can't you see how, supposing I were Nick, and this calf were branded with the 140 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN Cross-Triangle, I could work the iron over into my brand V* Patches nodded. "But is there no way to detect such a fraud?" "It's a mighty hard thing to prove that an iron has been worked over," Phil answered slowly. "About the only sure way is to catch the thief in the act." "But there are the earmarks," said Patches, a few moments later, when Phil had released the branded and marked calf — "the earmarks and the brand wouldn't agree." "They would if I were Nick," said the cowboy. Then he added quickly, as if regretting his remark, "Our earmark is an under-bit right and a split left, you said. Well, the JFour-Bar-M earmark is a crop and an under-bit right and a swallow-fork left." With the point of his iron now he again marked in the dirt. "Here's your Cross-Triangle: Ke*X^3? ) and here's your Four-Bar-M : ^XJG^ •" "And if a calf branded with a Tailholt iron were to be found following a Cross-Triangle cow, then what?" came Patches' very natural question. "Then," returned the foreman of the Cross-Triangk grimly, "there would be a mighty good chance for trouble." "But it seems to me," said Patches, as they rode on, "that it would be easily 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's property," returned the cowboy shortly. "But might it not be done innocently, just the same?" persisted Patches. "Yes, it might," admitted Phil. 141 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" "Well, then, what would you do if you found a calf, thafl you knew belonged to the Dean, branded with some other man's brand ? I mean, how would you proceed ?" "Oh, I see what you are driving at," said Phil in quite a different tone. "If you ever run on to a case, the first thing for you to do is to be 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 the nearest corral and report it. If you can't get them to a corral without too much trouble, just put the Cross-Triangle on the calf's ribs. When he shows up in the next rodeo, with the right brand on his ribs, and some other brand where the right brand ought to be — you'll take pains to remember his natural mark- ings, of course — you will explain the circumstances, and the owner of the iron that was put on him by mistake will be asked to vent his brand. A brand is vented by putting the same brand on the animal's shoulder. Look! There's one now." He pointed to an animal a short distance away. "See, that steer is branded Diamond-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-Half outfit. We picked him up in the rodeo, away over toward Mud Tanks. He was running with our stock, and Stillwell didn't want to go to the trouble of taking him home — about thirty miles it is — so he sold him to Uncle Will, and vented his brand, as you see." "I see," said Patches, "but that's different from finding a calf misbranded." 142 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN "Sure. There was no question of ownership there," agreed Phil. "But in the case of the calf," the cowboy's pupil persisted, "if it had left its mother when the man owning the iron was asked to vent it, there would 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 at last 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 Keid, and Stillwell, and dozens of others; and with cowboys like Curly and Bob and Bert 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 they refused to vent a brand under such circum- stances, would be seeing trouble, and mighty quick, too." ' "There's another thing that we've got to watch out for, just now," Phil continued, a few minutes later, "and that is, 'sleepers'. We'll suppose," 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 an unbranded Pot-Hook-S calf that looks good to me, but I don't dare put my iron on him because he's too young to leave his mother. If I let him go until he is older, some of Jim Beid's ridera 113 WHEN - A MAN'S A MAX will brand him, and, you see, I never could work over the Pot-Hook-S iron into my Five-Bar. So I earmark 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 that he's earmarked all right, and very likely they'll take it for granted that he's branded, or, perhaps let him go anyway. Before the next rodeo I run on to my sleeper again, and he's big enough now to take away from the cow, so all I have to do is to change the earmarks and brand him with my iron. Of course, I wouldn't get all my sleepers, but — the percentage would be in my favor. If too many sleepers show up in the rodeo, though, folks would get mighty suspicious that someone was too handy with his knife. We got a lot of sleepers in the last rodeo," he concluded quietly. And Patches, remembering what Little Billy had said about Nick Cambert and Yavapai Joe, and with the talk of the visiting cowboys still fresh in his mind, realized that he was making progress in his education. Biding leisurely, and turning frequently aside for a nearer vie^i "tf the cattle they sighted here and there, they reached Toohey a little before noon. Here, in a rocky hollow of the hills, a small stream wells from under the granite walls, only to lose itself a few hundred yards away in the sands and gravel of the wash. But, short as its run in the daylight is, the water never fails. And many cattle come from the open range that lies on every side, to drink, and, in summer time, to spend the heat of the day, standing in the cool, wet sands or lying in the shade of the giant syca- mores that line the bank opposite the bluff. There are corrala 144 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN near-by and a rude cook-shack under the wide-spreading branches of an old walnut tree; and the ground of the flat open space, a little back from the water, is beaten bare and hard by the thousands upon thousands of 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, several animals suffering from those pests of the Arizona ranges, the screwworms. As Phil explained to Patches while tbey watered their horses, the screwworm is the larva of a blowfly bred in sores on living animals. The unhealed wounds of the branding iron made the calves by far the most numerous among the sufferers, and were the afflicted animals not treated the loss during the season would amount to considerable. "Look here, Patches," said the cowboy, as his practiced eyes noted the number needing attention. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll just run this hospital bunch into the corral, and you can limber up that riata of yours." And so Patches learned not only the unpleasant work of cleaning the worm-infested sores with chloroform, but received his first lesson in the use of the cowboy's indis- pensable tool, the riata. "What next?" asked Patches, as the last calf escaped through the gate which he had just opened, and ran to find the waiting and anxious mother. Phil looked at his companion, and laughed. Honorable Patches showed the effect of his strenuous and bungling efforts to learn the rudiments of the apparently simple trick of roping a calf. His face was streaked with sweat and dust, 145 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN his hair disheveled, and his clothing soiled and stained. Bui his eyes were bright, and his bearing eager and ready. "What's the matter ?" he demanded, grinning happily at his teacher. "What fool thing have I done now ?" "You're doing fine," Phil returned. "I was only think- ing that you don't look 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," returned Patches. Phil glanced up at the sun. "What do you say to dinner ? It must be about that time." "Dinner ?" "Sure. I brought some jerky — there on my saddle — and some coffee. There ought to be an old pot in the shack yonder. Some of the boys don't bother, but I never like to miss a feed unless it's necessary." He did not explain that the dinner was really a thoughtful concession to his com- panion. "Ugh!" ejaculated Patches, with a shrug of disgust, the work they had been doing still fresh in his mind. "I couldn't eat a bite." "Tou 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 your mind when you smell the coffee." And thus Patches received yet another lesson — a lesson in the art of forgetting promptly the most disagreeable fea- tures of his work — an art very necessary to those who aspire to master real work of any sort whatever. 146 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN" When they had finished their simple meal, and lay stretched full length beneath the overhanging limbs of the age-old tree that had witnessed so many stirring scenes, and listened to so many camp-fire tales of ranch and range, they talked of things other than their work. In low tones, as men who feel a mystic and not-to-be-explained bond of fellowship — with half-closed eyes looking ont into the untamed world that lay before them — they spoke of life, of its mystery and meaning. And Phil, usually so silent when any conversation touched himself, and so timid always in expressing his own self thoughts, was strangely moved to permit this man to look upon the carefully hidden and deeper things of his life. But upon his cherished dream — upon his great ambition — he kept the door fast closed. The time for that revelation of himself was not yet. "By the way, Phil," said Patches, when at last his com- panion signified that it was time for them to go. "Where Were you educated ? I don't think that I have heard you "I have no education," returned the young man, with a laugh that, to Patches, sounded a bitter note. "I'm just a common cow-puncher, that's all." "I beg your pardon," returned the other, "but I thought from the books you 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, and brought his disease along with him." "His disease?" questioned Patches. Phil smiled. "His books, I mean. They killed him, and 147 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN I fell heir to his trouble. He was a good fellow, all right— we all liked him — might have 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 ; and then I got interested myself. About that time, too, there was a reason why I thought it might be a good thing for me; so I sent for more, and have made a fairly good job of it in the past three years. I don't think that there's any danger, though, of the habit getting the grip on me that it had on him," he reflected with a whimsical grin. "It was our book friend who first called Uncle Will the Dean." "The title certainly fits him well," remarked Patches. "I don't wonder that 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 well tell you. No, wait!" he exclaimed eagerly. "We have lots of time. We'll ride south a little way and perhaps I can show you." As they rode away up the creek, Patches wondered much at his companion's words and at his manner, but the cowboy shook his head at every question, answering, simply, "Wait." Soon they had left the creek bed — passing through a rock gateway at the beginning of the little stream — and were riding up a long, gently sloping hollow between two low but rugged ridges. The crest of the rocky wall on their left yr&a somewhat higher than the ridge on their right, but, sua 148 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN the Hoor of the long, narrow hollow ascended, the sides of the little valley became correspondingly lower. Patches noticed that his companion was now keenly alert and watch- ful. He sat his horse easily, but there was a certain air of readiness in his poise, as though he anticipated sudden action, while his eyes searched the mountain sides with eager expectancy. They had nearly reached the upper end of the long slope when Phil abruptly reined his horse to the left and rode straight up that rugged, rock-strewn mountain wall. To Patches it seemed impossible that a horse could climb such a place ; but he said nothing, and wisely gave Snip his head/ They were nearly at the top — so near, in fact, that Phil could see over the narrow crest — when the cowboy suddenly checked his horse and slipped from the saddle. With a gesture he bade his companion follow his example, and in a moment Patches stood beside him. Leaving their horses, they crept the few remaining feet to the summit. Crouching low, then lying 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 lies beyond. Patches uttered a low exclamation, but Phil's instant grip on his arm checked further speech. From where they lay, they looked down upon a great mountain basin of gently rolling, native grass land. Prom the foot of that rocky ridge, the beautiful pasture stretches away, several miles, to the bold, gray cliffs and mighty, towering battlements of Granite Mountain. On tha south, 149 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN a range of dark hills, and to the north, a series of sharp peaks, form the natural boundaries. "Do you see them ?" whispered Phil. Patches looked at him inquiringly. The stranger's interest in that wonderful scene had led him to overlook that which held his companion's attention. "There," whispered Phil impatiently, "on the side of that hill there — they're not more than four hundred yards away, and they're working toward us." "Do you mean those horses ?" whispered Patches, amazed at his companion's manner. Phil nodded. "Do they belong to the Cross-Triangle ?" asked Patches, still mystified. "The Cross-Triangle !" Phil chuckled. Then, with a note of genuine reverence 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 a beautifully formed, noble spirited horse. The glorious pride and strength and courage of these most kingly of God's creatures — even when they are in harness and subject to their often inferior masters — compel respect and a degree of appreciation. But seen as they roam free in those pastures that, since the creation, have never been marred by plow or fence — pastures that are theirs by divine right, and the sunny slopes and shady groves and rocky nooks of which constitute their kingdom — where, in their lordly 150 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN strength, they are subject only to the dictates of their own being, and, unmutilated by human cruelty, rule by the power and authority of Nature's laws — they stir the blood of the coldest heart to a quicker flow, and thrill the mind of the dullest with admiring awe. "There's twenty-eight in that bunch," whispered Phil. "Do you see that big black stallion on guard — the one that throws up his head every minute 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 about it." 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 the point where the chain of low peaks merges inte the hills that form the southern boundary of the basin, and so came suddenly into full view of the wild horses that were feeding on the slopes a little below. As the two horsemen appeared, the leader of the band threw up his head with 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 as the very rocks of the mountain side, gazing straight at the mounted men as though challenging their right to cross the boundary of his kingdom, while his retainers stood as still, waiting his leadership. With his long, black 151 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN mane and tail rippling and waving in the breeze that swept down from Blair Pass and across the Basin, with his raven- black coat glistening in the sunlight with the sheen of richest satin where the swelling muscles curved and rounded from shadow to high light, and with his 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 those God- cultivated fields. Patches glanced at his companion, as if to speak, but struck by the expression on the cowboy's face, remained silent. Phil was leaning a little forward in his saddle, his body as perfect in its poise of alert and graceful strength as the body of the wild horse at which he was gazing with such fixed interest. The clear, deeply tanned skin of his cheeks glowed warmly with the red of his clean, rich blood, his eyes shone with suppressed excitement, his lips, slightly parted, curved in a smile of appreciation, love and reverence for the unspoiled beauty of the wild creature that he himself, in so many ways, unconsciously resembled. And Patches — bred and schooled in a world so far from this world of primitive things — looking from Phil to the wild horse, and back again from the stallion to the man, felt the spirit and the power that made them kin — felt it with a, to him, strange new feeling of reverence, as though in the perfect, unspoiled life-strength of man and horse he came in closer touch with the divine than he had ever known before. Then, without taking his eyes from the object of his 152 WHEN A MAWS A MAN almost worship, Phil said, "Now, watch him, Patches, watch him!" As he spoke, he moved slowly toward the band, while Patches rode close by his side. At their movement, the wild stallion called another warn- ing to his followers, and went a few graceful paces toward the slowly approaching men. And then, as they continued their slow advance, he wheeled with the smooth grace of a swallow, and, with a movement so light and free that he seemed rather to skim over the surface of the ground than to tread upon it, circled here and there about his band, assembling them in closer order, flying, with ears flat and teeth bared and mane and»tail tossing, in lordly fury at the laggards, driving them before him, but keeping always between his charges and the danger until they were at what he evidently judged to be, for their inferior strength, a dis- tance of safety. Then again he halted his company and, moving alone a short way toward the horsemen, stood motion- less, 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 than by the passionate reverence that vibrated in his companion's voice. Again the two horsemen moved forward; and again the stallion drove his band to a safe distance, and stood waiting between them and their enemies. 153 WHEN" A MAN'S A MAN Then the cowboy laughed aloud — a hearty laugh of clean enjoyment. "All right, old fellow, I'll just give you a whirl for luck," he said aloud to the wild horse, apparently forget- ting his human companion. And Patches saw him shorten his reins, and rise a little in his stirrups, while his horse, as though understanding, gathered himself for a spring. In a flash Patches was alone, watching as Phil, riding with every ounce of strength that his mount could command, dashed straight toward the band. For a moment, the black stallion stood watching the now rapidly approaching rider. Then, wheeling, he started his band, driving them imperiously, now, to their utmost speed, and then, as though he understood* this new maneuver of the cowboy, he swept past his running companions, with the clean, easy flight of an arrow, and taking his place 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 to run with less than half his strength, swept away across the rolling hillsides, 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 his companion. "Did you see him go by the bunch like they were standing still ?" "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? I just wanted to see him go. The 154 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN horse doesn't live that could put a man within 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 — incredu- lously. 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. Pact is, he belongs to me right now, in a way, and I wouldn'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 is known throughout all that country. "It was when the black was a yearling," he said. "I'd had my eye on him all the year, and so had some of the other boys who had sighted the band, for you could see, even when he was a colt, what he was going to be. The wild horses were getting rather too numerous that season, and we planned a chase to thin them out a little, as we do every two or three years. Of course, everybody was after the black; and one day, along toward the end of the chase, when the different bands had been broken up and scattered pretty much, I ran onto him. I was trailing an old gray up that draw — the way we went to-day, you know, and all at once I met him as he was coming over the top of the hill, right where you and I rode onto him. It was all so sudden that for a minute he was rattled as bad as I was; and, believe me, I was shaking like a leaf. I managed to come to, first^ 155 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN 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 around until I wasn't dead sure whether I had him or he had me. But he was only a 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 explain it — and I don't talk about it much, for it was the strangest thing that ever 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 for anything in my life. I was sort of ashamed like — like — well, like I'd been caught holding up a church, you know, or something like that. We were all alone up there, just him and me, and while I was getting my wind, and we were sizing each other up, and I was feeling that way, I got to thinking what it all meant to him — to be broken and educated — and — well — civilized, you know ; and I thought what a horse he would fee 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 V cried Patches. "It's God's truth, Patches. I couldn't do anything else — I just couldn't. One of the boys came up just in time to catch me turning him loose, and, of course, the whole outfit just naturally raised hell about it. Tou see, in a chase like that, we always bunch all we get and sell them off to the highest bidder, and every man in the outfit shares aliie. 156 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN The boys figured that the black was worth more than any five others that were caught, and so you couldn't blame them for feeling sore. But I fixed it with them by turning all my share into the pot, so they couldn't kick. That, you see, makes the black belong to me, in a way, and it's pretty generally understood that I propose to take care of him. There was a fellow, riding in the rodeo last fall, that took a shot at him one day, and — well — he left the country right after it happened and 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, "I believe that horse knows me yet. Whenever I am over in this part of the country I always have a look at him, if he happens to be around, and we visit a little, as we did to-day. I've got a funny notion that he likes it as much as I do, and, I can't tell how it is, but it sort of makes me feel 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 the way 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't know how to tell you what I think, Phil, but I understand, and from the bottom of my heart I envy you." And the cowboy, looking at his companion, saw in the man's eyes something that reminded him of that which he had seen in the wild horse's eyes, that day when he had set him free. Had Patches, too, at some time in those days that were gone, been caught by the riata of circumstance or 157 WHEN A MAN'S A MAN environment, and in some degree robbed of his God-inherit- ance? Phil smiled at the fancy, but, smiling, felt its truth; and with genuine sympathy felt this also to be true, that the man might yet, by the strength that was deepest within him, regain that which he had lost. And so that day, as the man from the ranges and the man from the cities rode together, the feeling of kinship that each had instinctively recognized at their first meeting on the Divide was strengthened. They knew that a mutual understanding which could not have been put into words of any tongue or land was drawing them closer together. A few days later the incident occurred that fixed their friendship — as they thought — for all time to come. < ^rcy