XXI A GIRL LIKE YOU




THE RAMBLIN' KID




CHAPTER I


A NIGHT LETTER

Sand and gravel slithered and slid under the heels of Old Pie Face as
Skinny Rawlins whirled the broncho into the open space in front of the
low-built, sprawling, adobe ranch house of the Quarter Circle KT and
reined the pinto to a sudden stop. Skinny had been to Eagle Butte and
with other things brought back the mail. It was hot, late June, the time
between cutting the first crop of alfalfa and gathering, from the open
range, the beef steers ready for the summer market. Regardless of the
heat Skinny had ridden hard and his horse was a lather of sweat. A
number of cowboys lounged, indolently, in the shade of the bunk-house,
smoking cigarettes and contentedly enjoying the hour of rest after the
noon-day dinner. Another, lean-built, slender, boyish in appearance and
with strangely black, inscrutable eyes, stepped from around the corner
of the house as Skinny jerked Old Pie Face to a standstill.