front to see whether the track led up the brow of the hill or dipped
into the sandy wash.

On the breeze there floated to him the faint, insistent bawl of thirsty
cattle. The car leaped forward again, climbed the hill, and closed in
upon a _remuda_ of horses watched by two wranglers.

The chauffeur stopped the machine and shouted a question at the nearest
rider, who swung his mount and cantered up. He was a lean, tanned
youth in overalls, jumper, wide sombrero, high-heeled boots, and shiny
leather chaps. A girl in the tonneau appraised with quick, eager eyes
this horseman of the plains. Perhaps she found him less picturesque
than she had hoped. He was not there for moving-picture purposes.
Nothing on horse or man held its place for any reason except utility.
The leathers protected the legs of the boy from the spines of the
cactus and the thorns of the mesquite, the wide flap of the hat his
face from the slash of catclaws when he drove headlong through the
brush after flying cattle. The steel horn of the saddle was built to
check a half-ton of bolting hill steer and fling it instantly. The
rope, the Spanish bit, the _tapaderas_, all could justify their place
in his equipment.

"Where's the round-up?" asked the driver.

The coffee-brown youth gave a little lift of his head to the right. He
was apparently a man of few words. But his answer sufficed. The
bawling of anxious cattle was now loud and persistent.

The car moved forward to the edge of the mesa and dropped into the
valley. The girl in the back seat gave a little scream of delight.