He needed to think; to grasp this disaster that had come so suddenly
upon him. He looked moodily across to the southern bank, his chin
sunken between moist palms, the while the water dried upon his person.
To be set afoot, down here in the Badlands, away from the habitations
of men and fifteen miles from the probable location of the Flying U
camp, was not nice. To be set afoot _naked_--it was horrible, and
unbelievable. He thought of tramping, barefooted and bare-legged,
through fifteen miles of sage-covered Badlands to camp, with the sun
beating down on his unprotected back, and groaned in anticipation. Not
even his pessimism had ever pictured a thing so terrible.

He gazed at the gray-blue river which had caused this trouble that he
must face, and forgetting the luxury of its coolness, cursed it
venomously. Little waves washed up on the pebbly bank, and glinted in
the sun while they whispered mocking things to him. Happy Jack gave
over swearing at the river, and turned his wrath upon Stranger--Stranger,
hurtling along somewhere through the breaks, with all Happy's clothes
tied firmly to the saddle. Happy Jack sighed lugubriously when he
remembered how firmly. A fleeting hope that, if he followed the trail
of Stranger, he might glean a garment or two that had slipped loose,
died almost before it lived. Happy Jack knew too well the kind of
knots he always tied. His favorite boast that nothing ever worked
loose on his saddle, came back now to mock him with its absolute
truth.

The sun, dropping a bit lower, robbed him inch by inch of the shade to
which he clung foolishly. He hunched himself into as small a space as
his big frame would permit, and hung his hat upon his knees where they
stuck out into the sunlight. It was very hot, and his position was
cramped, but he would not go yet; he was still thinking--and the brain