Sundown hurried to the cook-room. Chance at his heels. Hi Wingle was
already installed in his old quarters, but he greeted Sundown heartily,
and set him to work helping.

After breakfast, Bud Shoop, in heavy wing chaps and trailing his spurs,
swaggered up to Sundown. "How you makin' it this mornin'?" he
inquired. There was a note of humorous good-fellowship in his voice
that did not escape Sundown.

"Doin' fine without crutches," replied Sundown, grinning.

"Well, you go eat now, and I'll catch up a cayuse for you. We're goin'
to fan it for Bald Knoll in about ten minutes."

"Do I go, too?"

"Sure! Do you think we don't eat pie only onct a year? You bet you
go--helpin' Hi. Boss's orders."

"Thanks--but I ain't no rider."

Shoop glanced questioningly at Sundown's legs. "Mebby not. But if I
owned them legs I'd contract to ride white-lightnin' bareback. I'd
just curl 'em 'round and grab holt of my feet when they showed up on
the other side. Them ain't legs; them's _cinchas_."

"Mebby they ain't," sighed Sundown. "It's the only pair I got, and I'm
kind of used to 'em."