centered them on the Notch again. The horseman had led his horse to a
clump of brush. Presently the twinkling front of an automobile
appeared--a miniature machine that wormed slowly through the Notch and
descended the short pitch beyond. Suddenly the car swerved and stopped.
Lorry saw a flutter of white near the machine. Then the concealed
horseman appeared on foot. Lorry slipped the glass in his shirt.

"We'll just mosey over and get a closer look," he told his pony. "Things
don't look just right over there."

Gray Leg, scenting a new interest, tucked himself together. The sand
sprayed to little puffs of dust as he swung to a lope.

Lorry was curious--and a bit elated at the promise of a break in the
monotony of hunting stray cattle. Probably some Eastern tourist had
taken the grade below the Notch too fast and ditched his machine. Lorry
would ride over and help him to right the car and set the pilgrim on his
way rejoicing. He had helped to right cars before. Last month, for
instance; that big car with the uniformed driver and the wonderfully
gowned women. He recalled the fact that one of them had been absolutely
beautiful, despite her strange mufflings. She had offered to pay him for
his trouble. When he refused she had thanked him eloquently with her
fine eyes and thrown him a kiss as he turned to go. She had thrown that
kiss with two hands! There was nothing stingy about that lady!

But possibly the machine toward which he rode carried nothing more
interesting than men; fat, well-dressed men who smoked fat cigars and
had much to say about "high" and "low," but didn't seem to know a great
deal about "Jack" and "The Game." If _they_ offered to pay him for
helping them--well, that was a different matter.