I'd rather be High Lord Chancellor of a cow-camp than the eight-spot
in a queen-high flush. It's your ranch; and Barber gets the beeves."

Webb's horse was tied to the rack. He walked into the house and
brought out his roll of blankets that he never took with him except on
long rides, and his "slicker," and his longest stake-rope of plaited
raw-hide. These he began to tie deliberately upon his saddle. Santa, a
little pale, followed him.

Webb swung up into the saddle. His serious, smooth face was without
expression except for a stubborn light that smouldered in his eyes.

"There's a herd of cows and calves," said he, "near the Hondo water-
hole on the Frio that ought to be moved away from timber. Lobos have
killed three of the calves. I forgot to leave orders. You'd better
tell Simms to attend to it."

Santa laid a hand on the horse's bridle, and looked her husband in the
eye.

"Are you going to leave me, Webb?" she asked quietly.

"I am going to be a man again," he answered.

"I wish you success in a praiseworthy attempt," she said, with a
sudden coldness. She turned and walked directly into the house.

Webb Yeager rode to the southeast as straight as the topography of
West Texas permitted. And when he reached the horizon he might have
ridden on into blue space as far as knowledge of him on the Nopalito