walked around horse and rider, giving them a final inspection. "And you
don't have to cinch ole Dobe extra tight," he advised. "He carries a
saddle good. 'Course that new leather will stretch some."

"How old _is_ Dobe?" queried Bartley. "You keep calling him 'old.'"

"I seen you mouthin' him, after you had saddled him. How old would _you_
say?"

"Seven, going on eight."

"Git along! And if anybody gits the best of you in a hoss-trade, wire me
collect. It'll sure be news!"

Bartley settled himself in the saddle and touched Dobe with the spurs.

"Give my regards to Senator Steve--and Cheyenne," called Wishful.

Wishful stood gazing after his recent guest until he had disappeared
around a corner.

Then Wishful strode into the hotel office and marked a blue cross on the
big wall calendar. A humorous smile played about his mouth. It was a
mark to indicate the day and date that an Eastern tenderfoot had got the
best of him in a horse-deal.