work when I leave. There has been a big shake-up in the Service. Some of
us stayed on top."

"Congratulations, John. Saturday, come two weeks, then."

And Bud heaved himself up. The Airedale, Bondsman, thumped the floor
with his tail. Bud turned a whimsical face to the supervisor. "Now
listen to that! What does he say? Well, he's tellin' me he sabes I got a
chanct at a job and that he'll keep his mouth shut about what you said,
like me. And that it's about time I quit botherin' folks what's busy and
went back to the hotel so he can watch things go by. That there dog
bosses me around somethin' scandalous."

Torrance smiled, and waved his hand as Bud waddled from the office, with
Bondsman at his heels.

About an hour later, as Torrance was dictating a letter, he glanced up.
Bud Shoop, astride a big bay horse, passed down the street. For a moment
Torrance forgot office detail in a general appreciation of the Western
rider, who, once in the saddle, despite age or physical attributes,
bears himself with a subconscious ease that is a delight to behold, be
he lean Indian, lithe Mexican, or bed-rock American with a girth, say,
of fifty-two inches and weighing perhaps not less than two hundred and
twenty pounds.

"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and
dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And
they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight
up, and white lightning with a gun."