Bartley laughed as he stepped down to the road. Bartley, a fair-sized
man, was surprised to realize that the other was all of a head taller
than himself. Cheyenne had not looked it in the saddle.

"Are you acquainted with Senator Brown?" queried Bartley as he strode
along beside the stiff-gaited outlander.

Cheyenne stopped and pushed back his hat. "Senator Steve Brown? Say,
pardner, me and Steve put this here country on the map. If kings was in
style, Steve would be wearin' a crown. Why, last election I wore out a
pair of jeans lopin' around this here country campaignin' for Steve. See
this hat? Steve give me this hat--a genuwine J.B., the best they make.
Inside he had printed on the band, in gold, 'From Steve to Cheyenne,
hoping it will always fit.' Do I know Steve Brown? Next time you see him
just ask him about Cheyenne Hastings."

"I met the Senator, yesterday. Come to think of it, he did mention your
name--'Cheyenne--and said you knew the country."

"Was you lookin' for a guide, mebby?"

"Well, not exactly. But I hope to see something of Arizona."

"Uh-huh. Well, I travel alone, mostly. But right now I'm flat broke. If
you was headin' south--"

"I expect to visit Mr. and Mrs. Brown some day. Their ranch is south of
here, I believe."

"Yep. Plumb south, on the Concho road. I'm ridin' down that way."