individool, but I'm tellin' you this, fer your own good. He's bad
medicine. He has his old man's temper thet riles up at nuthin' an' never
felt a halter. Wusser'n thet, he's spoiled an' he acts like a colt
thet'd tasted loco. The idee of his ropin' Pronto right thar near the
round-up! Any one would think he jest come West. Old Bill is no fool.
But he wears blinders when he looks at his son. I'm predictin' bad days
fer White Slides Ranch."



CHAPTER IV

Only one man at Meeker appeared to be attracted by the news that Rancher
Bill Belllounds was offering employment. This was a little
cadaverous-looking fellow, apparently neither young nor old, who said
his name was Bent Wade. He had drifted into Meeker with two poor horses
and a pack.

"Whar you from?" asked the innkeeper, observing how Wade cared for his
horses before he thought of himself. The query had to be repeated.

"Cripple Creek. I was cook for some miners an' I panned gold between
times," was the reply.

"Humph! Thet oughter been a better-payin' job than any to be hed
hereabouts."

"Yes, got big pay there," said Wade, with a sigh.

"What'd you leave fer?"