talk held that Bailey acted strangely at times, and rumour painted
occasional black doings at the hacienda, squatting vulture-like above
the ford, but it was nobody's business, and he kept a good cook.

Bailey did not recall the face that greeted him from above the three
span as they swung in front of his corral, but the brand on their
flanks was the Bar X, so he nodded with as near an approach to
hospitality as he permitted.

It was a large face, strong-featured and rugged, balanced on wide,
square shoulders, yet some oddness of posture held the gaze of the
other till the stranger clambered over the wheel to the ground. Then
Bailey removed his brier and heaved tempestuously in the throes of
great and silent mirth.

It was a dwarf. The head of a Titan, the body of a whisky barrel,
rolling ludicrously on the tiny limbs of a bug, presented so
startling a sight that even Hot Joy, appearing around the corner,
cackled shrilly. His laughter rose to a shriek of dismay, however,
as the little man made at him with the rush and roar of a cannon
ball. In Bailey's amazed eyes he seemed to bounce galvanically,
landing on Joy's back with such vicious suddenness that the breath
fled from him in a squawk of terror; then, seizing his cue, he kicked
and belaboured the prostrate Celestial in feverish silence. He
desisted and rolled across the porch to Bailey. Staring truculently
up et the landlord, he spoke for the first time.

"Was I right in supposin' that something amused you?"

Bailey gasped incredulously, for the voice rumbled heavily an octave