horse looks awfully good to a greaser, remember. But no greaser likes the
looks of a white man with a gun. Now let's see how much brains you've got
for the job, young man. If you see to it that no Rolling R stuff comes up
missing, and do it without any trouble, I'll call that making good."

"All right, I'll try and make good, then." Johnny's shoulders went back.
"When a man's got some object in life besides just earning a living,
he--"

From within the house full-toned chords were struck from a piano. Johnny
scowled, gave his packed horse a yank, and rode off. Couldn't that girl
ever let up on a fellow? Playing that darn fool tune over and over! It
sure showed how much brains she had in her head! He hoped she'd get
enough of it. If he was her mother or her father, he knew what he'd do
with her and the whole outfit. He'd stand 'em all up in a row and make
'em sing that fool song till they were hoarse as calves on the fifth day
of weaning. There was a time, too, when he had liked that girl. If she
had shown any brains or feeling, he could have loved Mary V. Good thing
he found out in time.

Johnny looked back from the gate and heaved a great sigh of relief at his
narrow escape. Or was it regret? Johnny himself did not know, but he
called it relief because that was the most comfortable emotion a young
man may take away with him into desert loneliness.

Yes, sir, he was glad of the chance to stay at Sinkhole for awhile. He
wouldn't be pestered to death, and he would have plenty of time to study
and read. He'd send for that correspondence course on aviation, and he'd
get the theory of it all down pat, so that when he had enough money saved
up to go into the thing right, all he would need would be the actual