"Hand-made and silver mounted," remarked another. "Hate to eat 'em."

"Trade you my pinto for a steer," offered still another.

"Nothin" doin'! That hoss of yours has got colic--bad."

"Swap this here goat for that rooster of yours," said "Sinker," a youth
whose early education in art had been neglected.

"Goat? You box-head! That's a calf. Kind 'a' mired down, but it's
sure a calf. And this ain't no rooster. This here's a eagle settin'
on his eggs. You need specs."

"Noah has sure been herdin' 'em in," said another puncher.

Meanwhile, "Noah" stood in the messroom doorway, arms folded and face
beaming. His attitude invited applause, and won it. Eventually his
reputation as a "pie-artist" spread far and wide. When it leaked out
that he had wrought his masterpieces with a spur, there was some
murmuring. Being assured by the assistant that the spur had been
previously boiled, the murmuring changed to approval. "That new cook
was sure a original cuss! Stickin' right to the range in his
picture-work. Had them there old Hopi picture-writin's on the rocks
beat a mile." And the like.

Inspired by a sense of repletion, conducive to generosity and humor,
the boys presented Sundown with a pair of large-rowelled Mexican spurs,
silver-mounted and altogether formidable. Like many an historic
adventurer, he had won his spurs by a _tour-de-force_ that swept his