and it was returned with the hammer on a cartridge."

"Of course," disgustedly assented the trail boss; "with me it's an old
story. Hadn't no more sabe than to lend his gun to some prowling
tenderfoot. More than likely he urged its loan on this short-horn. Yes,
I know Colonel Forrest; I've known him to bet his saddle and ride
bareback as the result. It shows his cow-sense. Rather shallow-brained
to be allowed so far from home."

"Well," contended poor Dell, "they surely were no friends. At least Mr.
Quince don't speak very highly of that man."

"That's his hindsight," said the trail foreman. "If the truth ever comes
out, you'll notice his foresight was different. Colonel Quince is
famous, after the horse is stolen, for locking the stable door. That
other time he offered to take an oath, on a stack of Bibles, never to
bet his saddle again. The trouble is the game never repeats; the play
never comes up twice alike. If that old boy's gray matter ever comes to
full bloom, long before his allotted time, he'll wither away."

Dell was discouraged. He realized that his defense of his friend was
weak. This second foreman seemed so different from either Priest or
Forrest. He spoke with such deep regret of the seeming faults of others
that the boy never doubted his sincerity. He even questioned Dell with
such an innocent countenance that the lad withered before his glance,
and became disheartened at the success of the errand. Forced to the
defense continually, on several occasions Dell nearly betrayed the
object of bringing the new man to the homestead, but in each instance
was saved by some fortunate turn in the conversation. Never was sight
more welcome than the tent, glistening in the sun, and never was relief
from duty more welcome to a courier. The only crumb of comfort left to
the boy who had ridden forth so boldly was that he had not betrayed the
object of his mission and had brought the range men together. Otherwise
his banner was trailing in the dust.

The two rode direct to the tent. During the middle of the day, in order
to provide free ventilation, the walls were tucked up, and the flaps,
rear and front, thrown wide open. Stretched on his bunk, Forrest watched
the opening, and when darkened by the new arrival, the wounded man's
greeting was most cordial. "Well, if it isn't old Nat Straw," said he,
extending his hand. "Here, I've been running over in my mind the
different trail bosses who generally go north of the