The sheriff had found a listener after his own heart.

"They ain't nothing but a campfire that gives a good light to see a story
by--the kind of stories I got to tell," he declared. "Some of these days
I'll take you along with me on a trail, son, if you'd like--and most like
I'll talk your arm off at night beside the fire. Like to come?"

"Like to?" cried Terry. "I'd be the happiest man in the mountains!"

"Would you, now? Well, Colby, you and me might hit it off pretty well.
I've heard tell you ain't half bad with a rifle and pretty slick with a
revolver, too."

"I practice hard," said Terry frankly. "I love guns."

"Good things to love, and good things to hate, too," philosophized the
sheriff. "But all right in their own place, which ain't none too big,
these days. The old times is gone when a man went out into the world with
a hoss under him, and a pair of Colts strapped to his waist, and made his
own way. Them days is gone, and our younger boys is going to pot!"

"I suppose so," admitted Terry.

"But you got a spark in you, son. Well, one of these days we'll get
together. And I hear tell you got El Sangre?"

"I was lucky," said Terry.

"That's a sizable piece of work, Colby. I've seen twenty that run El