that there's any danger, though, of the habit getting the grip on me
that it had on him," he reflected with a whimsical grin. "It was our
book friend who first called Uncle Will the Dean."

"The title certainly fits him well," remarked Patches. "I don't wonder
that it stuck. I suppose you received yours for your riding?"

"Mine?"

"'Wild Horse Phil,' I mean," smiled the other.

Phil laughed. "Haven't you heard that yarn yet? I reckon I may as well
tell you. No, wait!" he exclaimed eagerly. "We have lots of time. We'll
ride south a little way and perhaps I can show you."

As they rode away up the creek, Patches wondered much at his companion's
words and at his manner, but the cowboy shook his head at every
question, answering, simply, "Wait."

Soon they had left the creek bed--passing through a rock gateway at the
beginning of the little stream--and were riding up a long, gently
sloping hollow between two low but rugged ridges. The crest of the rocky
wall on their left was somewhat higher than the ridge on their right,
but, as the floor of the long, narrow hollow ascended, the sides of the
little valley became correspondingly lower. Patches noticed that his
companion was now keenly alert and watchful. He sat his horse easily,
but there was a certain air of readiness in his poise, as though he
anticipated sudden action, while his eyes searched the mountain sides
with eager expectancy.