free, unfettered youth. In a parlor some of it would have been offensive,
but under the stars of the open desert it was as natural as the life
itself. They spoke of the spring rains, of the Crawford-Steelman feud, of
how they meant to turn Malapi upside down in their frolic when they
reached town. They "rode" each other with jokes that were familiar old
friends. Their horse play was rough but good-natured.

Out of the soft shadows of the summer night a boy moved from the remuda
toward the camp-fire. He was a lean, sandy-haired young fellow, his
figure still lank and unfilled. In another year his shoulders would be
broader, his frame would take on twenty pounds. As he sat down on the
wagon tongue at the edge of the firelit circle the stringiness of his
appearance became more noticeable.

A young man waved a hand toward him by way of introduction. "Gents of the
D Bar Lazy R outfit, we now have with us roostin' on the wagon tongue Mr.
David Sanders, formerly of Arizona, just returned from makin' love to his
paint hoss. Mr. Sanders will make oration on the why, wherefore, and
how-come-it of Chiquito's superiority to all other equines whatever."

The youth on the wagon tongue smiled. His blue eyes were gentle and
friendly. From his pocket he had taken a knife and was sharpening it on
one of his dawn-at-the-heel-boots.

"I'd like right well to make love to that pinto my own se'f, Bob,"
commented a weather-beaten puncher. "Any old time Dave wants to saw him
off onto me at sixty dollars I'm here to do business."

"You're sure an easy mark, Buck," grunted a large fat man leaning against
a wheel. His white, expressionless face and soft hands differentiated him