him to seek other latitudes, for the average man of the outlands has a
peculiar and deep-seated pride which is apt to manifest itself in
prompt and vigorous action when touched by ridicule or ingratitude.
There are many Davids and Jonathans in the sagebrush country. David
may have flocks and herds, and Jonathan may have naught but the care of
them. David may possess lands and water-rights, and Jonathan nothing
more than a pick, a shovel, a pan, and an incurable itch for placering.
A Westerner likes a man for what he is and not because of his vocation.
He usually proceeds cautiously in the matter of friendship, but sudden
and instinctive friendships are not infrequent. It so happened that
John Corliss had taken a liking to the Hobo, Sundown Slim. Knowing a
great deal more about cattle than about psychology, the rancher wasted
no time in trying to analyze his feelings. If the tramp had courage
enough to walk another thirty miles across the mesas to get a job
cooking, there must be something to him besides legs. Possibly the
cattle-man felt that he was paying a tribute to the memory of his
brother. In any event, he greeted Sundown next morning as the latter
came to the water-hole to drink. "You can't lose your way," he said,
pointing across the mesa. "Just keep to the road. The first ranch on
the right is the Concho. Good luck!" And he led Chinook through the
gateway. In an hour he had topped the hill. He reined Chinook round.
He saw a tiny figure far to the south. Half in joke he waved his
sombrero. Sundown, who had glanced back from time to time, saw the
salute and answered it with a sweeping gesture of his lean arm. "And
now," he said, "I got the whole works to meself. That Concho guy is a
mighty fine-lookin' young fella, but he don't look like Billy. Rides
that hoss easy-like jest as if he was settin' in a rockin'-chair
knittin' socks. But I reckon he could flash up if you stepped on his
tail. I sure ain't goin' to."