tenderly, and crawling to a spring a few feet distant, buried his face in
the tiny pool and drank deeply of the refreshing liquid. Very
deliberately he dried his face on a blue handkerchief, and fumbled in his
pockets for papers and tobacco. As he blew the grey smoke from his
nostrils he watched the half-breed who sat nearby industriously splicing
a pair of broken bridle reins.

"Did you get that ticket, Bat?" he asked, with a hand pressed tightly
against his aching forehead.

The other grinned. "Me, A'm no wan' no ticket. A'm lak A'm stay wit'
you, an' mebbe-so we git de job togedder."

The cowpuncher smoked for a time in silence.

"What was the rookus last night?" he asked, indifferently. Then,
suddenly, his eye fell upon the sorrel that snipped grass at the end of a
lariat rope near the picketed black, and he leaped to his feet. "Where'd
you get that horse?" he exclaimed sharply. "It's Fatty's! There's the
reins he busted when he snorted loose!"

Again the half-breed grinned. "A'm bor' dat hoss for com' 'long wit'
you. Dat Fatty, she damn bad man. She try for keel you w'en you tak' de
shot at de wheel. A'm com' 'long dat time an' A'm keek heem in de guts
an' he roll 'roun' on de floor, an' A'm t'row de bottle of wheesky an'
smash de beeg lamp an' we com' 'long out of dere." The cowpuncher tossed
his cigarette away and spat upon the ground.

"How'd you happen to come in there so handy just at the right time?" he
asked with a sidewise glance at the half-breed.