blin' Kid," strolled leisurely out through the sagging,
weight-swung gate and up to the panting horse from which Skinny had not
yet dismounted.

"Asleep, I reckon," he replied in a voice peculiarly low and deliberate,
"--what's your spontaneousness about? You act like a special d'livery or
somethin'."

"Old Heck's got a letter," Skinny said, jerkily; "maybe's it's bad news
an' he ought to have it quick," as the Ramblin' Kid reached for a yellow
envelope held in the outstretched hand.

At that instant Old Heck, owner and boss of the Quarter Circle KT cow
outfit, stepped from the shadow of the open ranch-house door. He was
short and stocky, red-faced, somewhere near the fifties, and a
yellowish-gray mustache hung over tobacco blackened lips. Overalls, a
checked blue and white shirt, open at the throat, boots into which the
trousers legs were loosely jammed comprised his attire. He was
bareheaded and the sun glistened on a wrinkly forehead, topped by a thin
sprinkling of hair.

"What's the matter?" he asked drowsily, his small, gray-blue eyes
blinking in the yellow sun-glare and still sluggish from the nap
disturbed by the noise of Skinny's arrival.

"Nothin'. Skinny's just got a letter an' is excited about it," the
Ramblin' Kid said, handing the envelope to him. "It's for you."

"My Gawd!" Old Heck exclaimed, "it's a telegram!"

The cowboys resting in the shade of the bunk-house rose to their feet,
sauntered over and surrounded Old Heck and the Ramblin' Kid, commenting
meanwhile, frankly and caustically, on the fagged condition of the
broncho Skinny was on:

"Must 'a' been scared, the way you run that horse," Parker, range
foreman of the Quarter Circle KT, a heavy-built, sandy-complexioned man
in the forties, remarked witheringly to Skinny as the cow-puncher
climbed from the saddle and slid to the ground.

"He's mine, I reckon," Skinny retorted, "an' I figure it's nobody's
darn' business how I ride him--anyhow I brought Old Heck a telegram!" he
added triumphantly.

"Blamed if he didn't!" Charley Saunders, with a trifle of awe, pretended
or real, in his tone, said. "It sure is!"

"My Gawd!" Old Heck repeated, slowly turning the envelope over in his
hand, "it's a telegram! Wonder what it's about?"

"Why don't you open it and see?" Parker suggested.

"Yes, open th' blamed thing and find out," Skinny encouraged.

"I--I've a notion to," Old Heck whispered.

"Go on and do it, it won't take but a minute," Char