in the general uproar, was strange. But Blink seldom did say anything.
He was one of the aliens who had drifted into the Flying U outfit that
spring, looking for work. Chip had taken him on, and he had stayed. He
could ride anything in his string, and he was always just where he was
wanted. He never went to town when the others clattered off for a few
hours' celebration more or less mild, he never took part in any of the
camp fun, and he never offended any man. If any offended him they did
not know it unless they were observant; if they were, they would see
his pale lashes wink fast for a minute, and they might read aright the
sign and refrain from further banter. So Blink, though he was counted
a good man on roundup, was left pretty much alone when in camp.

Andy Green, well and none too favorably known down Rocking R way, and
lately adopted into the Happy Family on the recommendation of Pink and
his own pleasing personality, looped the latigo into the holder, gave
his own dancing steed a slap of the don't-try-to-run-any-whizzers-on-me
variety, and went over to help out Blink.

Blink eyed his approach with much the same expression with which he
eyed the horse. "I never hollered for assistance," he remarked
grudgingly when Andy was at his elbow. "When I can't handle any of the
skates in my string, I'll quit riding and take to sheep-herding."
Whereupon he turned his back as squarely as he might upon Andy and
made another stealthy grab for the sorrel's ears. (There is such a
thing in the range-land as jealousy among riders, and the fame of Andy
Green had gone afar.)

"All right. Just as you say, and not as I care a darn," Andy retorted,
and went back to where his own mount stood tail to the wind. He did
not in the least mind the rebuff; he really felt all the indifference