"There's Colston, now!" exclaimed Cameron, rising and hailing a rider who approached leading two saddled horses. The rider drew up, Cameron descended to the little white gate, and a moment later was helping the ranchman to tie his horses to the picket fence. As they approached the porch, Endicott noted the leathery gauntness of face that bespoke years on the open range, and as their hands met he also noted the hard, firm grip, and the keen glance of the grey eyes that seemed to be taking his measure. The man greeted the ladies with grave deference, and seated himself in the empty chair.

"Well, I got here, Endicott, but it was a considerable ch.o.r.e. Ain't as young as I was once. Time I was lettin' go, I guess. Seventy years old--an' young-hearted as any buck on the range--but along towards night, after a hard day's ride, I find myself beginin' to realize I be'n somewheres, an' the old bed-roll looks better to me than a carload of white-faces."

Instinctively, Endicott liked this man--the bluff heartiness of him, and the alert litheness of motion that belied the evidence of the white moustache and silvery white hair. "I hope I shall be half the man you are at your age," he laughed.

"You will be--if you buy the Y Bar outfit. Believe me young man, there's enough to do around that outfit to keep a man up an' jumpin' if he was a hundred an' seventy. A man just naturally ain't got time to get old!"

"Win tells me the ranch is sixty miles from here," smiled Alice, "and that's a pretty good ride for anybody."

"Pretty good ride! Young woman, if that was all the ridin' I done today I'd b'en here before breakfast. I couldn't get away till afternoon--up before daylight this mornin', rode two horses plumb off their feet huntin' the wagons--foreman quit yesterday--best blamed foreman I ever had, too. Just up an' quit cold because he took a notion. Tried every which way to get him to stay--might's well talk to a rock. Away he went, Lord knows where, leavin' me nothin' on my mind except bein' owner, manager, ranch boss, an' wagon boss, besides tryin' to sell the outfit.

Confounded young whelp! Best doggone cow-hand on the range."

"Why did you have to hunt wagons, and what has a wagon boss got to do with a cattle ranch?" asked the girl.

"The wagons are the round-up--the rodeo. We're right in the middle of the calf round-up. The grub wagon an' the bed wagon makes what you might call the field headquarters for the round-up--move every day till they cover the whole range."

"How interesting!" exclaimed the girl, "I know I'm going to love it!"

"Sure is interesting," remarked the old man, drily, "with the wagons twenty or thirty miles out in the foothills, an' workin' over into the sheep country, an' eighteen or twenty knot-headed cow-hands hatin'

sheep, an' no foreman to hold 'em level, an' hayin' on full tilt at the home ranch, an' the ranch hands all huntin' the shade! Yes'm, interestin's one word for it--but there's a shorter one that I'm afraid the parson, here, wouldn't recommend that describes it a heap better."

"By the way," said Endicott, "Mr. Cameron tells me that the cattle and sheep situation is a rather delicate one hereabouts. He says that you hold the respect of both factions--that you seem to have a peculiar knack in keeping the situation in hand----"

"Peculiar knack!" exclaimed the ranchman, "peculiar knack's got nothin'

to do with it! Common sense, young man! Just plain common sense, an'

maybe the ability to see that other folks has got rights, same as I have. The Y Bar stands for a square deal all the way around--when its own calves are branded, it quits brandin', an' it don't hold that open range means cattle range an' not sheep range. Any fair-minded man can take the Y Bar an' run it like I've run it, an' make money, an' let the other fellow make money, too. There's plenty of range for all of us if we keep our head. If you're afraid of buyin' into a war--don't buy. I can sell any day to parties I know are just layin' to get the Y Bar, an'

the minute they got it, trouble would start an' there'd be h.e.l.l a-poppin' all along the Mizoo. Somewhere there must be a man that'll buy that is fair-minded, an' not afraid to take holt an' run the outfit like I've run it."

Endicott flushed slightly: "I am not afraid of it. I only wanted to know----"

"An' you've got a right to know. If we deal, I'll stay with you long enough to wise you up to the whole layout. That would be no more than right. I'm considerable used to judgin' men, an' I think you can handle it. Let 'em know right off the reel that you ain't afraid of any of 'em--an' get this before you start out: A man ain't G.o.d A'mighty because he happens to run cattle, an' he ain't the Devil because he runs sheep, neither. There's cattlemen on this range I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw a bull by the tail, an' there's sheep-men can have anything I've got just on their say-so--mind you, that ain't the general run--pickin' 'em in the dark, I'd tie to a cow-man every time--but there's exceptions, as the fellow says, to every rule. If that confounded Tex hadn't quit----"

"_Tex!_" cried Alice, and Endicott smiled at the glad eagerness of the tone.

The old cattleman glanced at her in surprise: "Yes, my foreman. Best man on the range--handled men the easiest you ever saw. Never had any trouble with the sheep outfits--but just the same, there ain't a sheep-man south of the river that would care to try to put anything over on him--nor no one else, neither. There ain't any bluff an' bl.u.s.ter about him, he's the quietest hand you ever saw. But, somehow, lookin'

into them eyes of his--a man just naturally stops to think--that's all."

"Oh, what is he like? Tell me about him! What is his name?"

"Name's Tex. That's all I know, an' that's all----"

"Tex Benton?" interrupted the girl.

The man regarded her curiously. "Maybe, or, Tex Smith, or Tex Jones, or Tex somethin else."

"I--we knew a Tex, once----"

Colston laughed: "There's lots of Texes here in the cow-country. Tryin'

to find one that you didn't know no more about than that would be like me goin' East an' sayin' I knew a man by the name of John."

"How long has he worked for you?"

"He quit last evenin'. If he'd of stayed till day after tomorrow, it would have been just a year." The old man's voice had softened, and his gaze strayed to the far hills. "I made him foreman when he'd b'en with me a month," he continued after a short pause. "I can pick men." Another pause. "He--he called me 'Dad'."

"Did he know you were going to sell?" asked Endicott.

The old man shook his head.

"Then, why did he quit?" Somehow, the question sounded harsh, but the man seemed not to notice. There was an awkward silence during which the old man continued to stare out over the hills.

"He quit to get drunk," he said abruptly, and Endicott detected a slight huskiness in his tone.

Across the table, Alice gasped--and the sound was almost a sob.

Colston cleared his throat roughly, and turned his eyes to the girl: "That's the way I feel about it, young woman. I got to know him mighty well, an' I know what was in him. From the time he went to work for me till he quit, he never took a drink--an', G.o.d knows it wasn't because he didn't want one! He fought it just like he fought bad horses, an' like he'd of fought men if he'd had to--square an' open. He'd give away an advantage rather than take one. He was like that.

"I saw him ride an outlaw, once--a big, vicious killer--a devil-horse.

The Red King, we called him, he's run with the wild bunch for years. Two men had tried him. We buried one where he lit. The other had folks. Tex run him a week an' trapped him at a water-hole--then, he _rode him_!"

The old man's eyes were shining now, and his fist smote the table top.

"Ah, that was a ride--with the whole outfit lookin' on!" Colston paused and glanced about the faces at the table, allowing his eyes to rest upon Alice who was listening eagerly, with parted lips. "Did you ever notice how sometimes without any reason, things gets kind of--of onnatural--kind of feel to 'em that's _different_? Well, this ride was like that. I've seen hundreds of bad horses rode, an' the boys all yellin' an' bettin', but this time there wasn't no bettin', an' the only sounds was the sound made by the Red King. It wasn't because they expected to see Tex killed--all of 'em had seen men killed ridin' bad horses, an' all of 'em had cheered the next man up. But, somethin' kep'

'em still, with their eyes froze on what they saw. It was uncanny--one hundred an' forty pounds of man tacklin' eleven hundred pounds of red fury. There we stood, the white alkali dust raisin' in a cloud, an' the devil-horse, crazy mad--screamin' shrill like a woman, snappin' like a wolf, frothin', strikin', kickin', buckin' twistin', sunfishin', swappin' ends, shootin' ten foot high an' crashin' down on his back--fightin' every minute with the whole box of tricks, an' a lot of new ones--an' Tex right up in the middle of him with that twisty smile on his face, like he wasn't only half interested in what he was doin'.

Didn't even put a bridle on. Rode him with a hackamore--jerked that off an' give him his head--an' he rode straight up, an' raked him an' fanned him every jump. It wasn't _human_.

"For three days they fought, man an' horse, before the Red King knew his master--an' when they got through, the Red King would come when Tex whistled. For ten days he rode him, an'--there was a horse! A bay so bright an' sleek that he looked like red gold in the sunlight, mane an'

tail black as ink, an' his eyes chain lightnin'--an' the sound of the thunder was in his hoofs.

"It was moonlight the night I rode home from the NL. I had just topped a ridge that juts from the foothills into the open range an' all at once I heard the thunder of hoofs ahead. I slipped into a scatterin' of bull pines at the edge an' waited. I didn't wait long. Along the ridge, runnin' strong an' smooth, like the rush of a storm wind, come a horse an' rider. Before I could make 'em out, I knew by the sound of the hoofs, what horse an' what rider. They pa.s.sed close--so close I could have reached out an' touched 'em with my quirt. Then I saw what made my heart jump an' my eyes fair pop out of my head. The Red King flashed by--no saddle, no bridle, not even an' Injun twitch, mane an' tail flarin' out in the wind of his own goin', an' the white foam flyin' in chunks from his open mouth; an' on his back sat Tex, empty handed an'

slick heeled. I thought I caught a glimpse of the twisty smile on his face, as he swayed on the back of the devil-horse--that, I saw--an' ten rod further on the ridge broke off in a goat-climb! I went limp, an'

then--'Whoa!' The sound cracked like a pistol shot. The stallion's feet bunched under him an' three times his length he slid with the loose rock flyin' like hailstones! He stopped with his forefeet on the edge, an' his rump nearly touchin' the ground, then he whipped into shape like a steel spring an' stood there on the rim of the ridge, neck an' tail arched, head tossin' out that long black mane, red flarin' nostrils suckin' in the night air, an' a forefoot pawin' the rock. If Remington or old Charlie Russell could have seen what I saw there in the moonlight--man an' horse--the best man, an' the best horse in all the cow-country--the sky black an' soft as velvet, an' the yellow range--no one will paint it--because no one will ever see the like again. There they stood, lookin' out over the wild country. And, then Tex slipped down an' stepped slow to the Red King's head. He put up his arms an'

they closed over the arched neck an' his cheek laid against the satin skin of him. For what seemed like a long time they stood there, an' then Tex stepped back an' pointed to the yellow range: 'Go on, boy!' he said, '_Go!_' An' he brought the flat of his hand down with a slap on the shiny flank. For just an instant the horse hesitated an' then he went over the edge. The loose rocks clattered loud, an' then come the sound of hoofs on the sod as the Red King tore down the valley. Tex watched him an' all of a sudden his fingers flew to his lips, an' a shrill whistle cut the air. Down in the valley the devil-horse stopped short--stopped an' whirled at the sound. Then of a sudden he reared high his forefeet pawin' the air in a fume of fury an' up out of the night come the wickedest, wildest scream man ever heard--it was a scream that got to a man. It sent cold shivers up an' down my back. The Red King had come into his own again--he was defyin' his master. He turned, then, an'

the last I saw of him was a red blur in the distance.

"Then Tex turned an' started back along the ridge. I could see his face, now, an' the twisty smile on his lips. I aimed to stay hid an' never let on I'd seen--it seemed somehow best that way. But when he was right opposite me he stopped an' rolled a cigarette an' the flare of the match made my horse jump, an' the next second he was beside me with a gun in his hand, an' his face flamin' red as the coat of the devil-horse.

"'You saw it?' he says, kind of quiet.

"I shakes my head: 'Yes,' I says, 'but not intentional. I was ridin'

home from the NL, an' I slipped in here to let you by.'

"Pretty soon he spoke again kind of slow: 'If it had b'en anyone else but you, Dad,' he says, 'I'd of--of--But, you understand, you savvy.

He's wild--we're both wild--the Red King an' me. We'll fight like h.e.l.l--for the fun of fightin'--an' then we'll go back to the wild again--an' we'll go back when we d.a.m.n please--did you see him when I whistled?'

"'I saw,' I says. To tell the truth, I was kind of catchy in the throat, but I managed to blurt out, 'An' that's why you wouldn't brand him?'

"'Yes,' he says, 'that's why--' An' of a sudden, his voice went hard. 'I licked him to show him I could. But, I didn't brand him--an' if anyone ever lays an iron on him, I'll kill him as sure as h.e.l.l--onless the Red King beats me to it.'" The old man paused and cleared his throat huskily, and as Alice dabbed at her eyes he noticed that her lips quivered. "An' that's the way he fought the booze--open an' above board--not takin' the advantage of stayin' away from it. He carried a half-pint flask of it all the time. I've seen him take it out an' hold it up to the sunlight an' watch the glints come an' go--for all the world like the glints on the coat of the Red King. He'd shake it, an'

watch the beads rise, an' he'd pull the cork an' smell it--breathe its flavour an' its bouquet deep into his lungs--an' all the while the little beads of cold sweat would be standin' out on his forehead, like dew on a tombstone, an' his tongue would be wettin' his lips, an' his fingers would be twitchin' to carry it to his mouth. Then his lips would twist into that grin, an' he'd put back the cork, an' put the bottle in his pocket, an' ride off--_singin'_.

"When I saw him tackle that horse that no man had ever rode, I knew, somehow, that he'd ride him. An' when I'd see him pull that bottle, just tormented crazy for a drink, I knew he wouldn't take a drink. An' the same way, when he come to me yesterday an' said he was goin' to quit, I knew he was goin' to quit, an' there was nothin' more to be said. I asked him why, an' open an' above board he says: 'Because I'm goin' to get drunk.' I couldn't believe my ears at first. It turned me kind of sick--an' then I knew I loved him. All at once I saw red. You see, I knew what he didn't know I knew--about his fight with the booze. 'So, it got you at last, did it?' I says.