to Redrock. Mr. Johnson's thought was to entrain himself for Tucson.

The Midnight horse reached along in a brisk, swinging walk, an optimistic
walk, good for four miles an hour. He had held that gait since three
o'clock in the morning, with an hour off for water and breakfast at
Smith's Wells, the first stage station out from Cobre; it was now
hot noon by a conscientious sun--thirty-six miles. But Midnight did not
care. For hours their way had been through a trackless plain of uncropped
salt grass, or grama, on the rising slopes: now they were in a country of
worn and freshly traveled trails: wise Midnight knew there would be water
and nooning soon. Already they had seen little bands of horses peering
down at them from the high knolls on their right.

Midnight wondered if they were to find sweet water or alkali. Sweet,
likely, since it was in the hills; Midnight was sure he hoped so. The
best of these wells in the plains were salt and brackish. Privately,
Midnight preferred the Forest Reserve. It was a pleasant, soft life in
these pinewood pastures. Even if it was pretty dull for a good cow-horse
after the Free Range, it was easier on old bones. And though Midnight was
not insensible to the compliment Pete had paid him by picking him from
the bunch for these long excursions to the Southland deserts, he missed
the bunch.

They had been together a long time, the bunch; Pete had brought them from
the Block Ranch, over in New Mexico. They were getting on in years, and
so was Pete. Midnight mused over his youthful days--the dust, the
flashing horns, the shouting and the excitement of old round-ups.

It is a true telling that thoughts in no way unlike these buzzed in the
rider's head as a usual thing. But to-day he had other things to think