"Poor fellow!" said Sid.

"I knowed that was it," asserted Dave. "I see something was the matter
with his eye when he come in this noon."

Rix, released, trotted away.

"Guess he'll stay out of fox-tail after this," said Sid.

"I dunno," said Dave. "Critters walk right into trouble with their
eyes wide open. I'm going to make bread now."

Sid followed into the shanty, and watched Dave stir together sour milk
and soda for bread. The ranch was away in the hills, much too far from
any town for visits from the baker's wagon. The treeless hills were
the ranging-place of cattle and horses. Far away in the valley Sid
could see the river-bed. It was dry now, but Dave said that if one dug
down anywhere in the sand, one could find a current of water a few feet
below the surface. Dave always knew things. Sid liked to hear him
talk. All this country was new to Sid.

"Does your bread always rise?" he asked.

"If it don't I give it to the chickens," said Dave, putting in some
more soda. "Tried yeast-cakes, but I couldn't make them work."

"Is fox-tail grass much bother to folks?" questioned Sid, seeing Rix
from the door.

"Awful!" said Dave. "Gets in the hogs' eyes, and the sheep's too.