ser place could possibly turn
out such magnificence. Then Kit let his fancy wander off into crude
cowboy visions of what 'Frisco might be like, for he had never seen a
city.

"What a buster of a town 'Frisco must be!" Kit soliloquized. "Must have
more'n a hundred saloons an' more slick gals than the X brand has
heifers. What a lot o' fun a feller could have out thar! Only I reckon
them gals wouldn't look at him more'n about onct unless he was well fixed
for dough. Reckon they don't drink nothin' but wine out thar, nor eat
nothin' but oysters. An' wine an' oysters costs money, oodles o' money!
That's the worst of it! S'pose it'd take more'n a month's pay to git a
feller out thar on the kiars, an' then about three months' pay to git to
stay a week. Reckon that's jes' a little too rich for Kit's blood. But,
jiminy! Wouldn't I like to have a good, big, fat bank roll an' go thar!"

Here was a crisis suddenly come in Kit's life, although he did not then
realize it. It is entirely improbable he had ever before felt the want
of money. His monthly pay of thirty-five dollars enabled him to sport a
pearl-handled six-shooter and silver-mounted bridle bit and spurs, kept
him well clothed, and gave him an occasional spree in town. What more
could any reasonable cowboy ask?

But to-night the very elements and all nature were against him. Even a
light dash of rain to rouse the sleeping herd, or a hungry cow straying
out into the darkness, would have been sufficient to divert and probably
save him; but nothing happened. The night continued fine. The herd
slept on. And Kit was thus left an easy prey, since covetousness had
come to aid curiosity in compassing his ruin.

"A bank roll! A big, fat, full-grown, long-horned, four-year-old roll!
_That's_ what a feller wants to do 'Frisco right. Nothin' less. But
whar's it comin' from, an' when? S'pose I brands a few mavericks an'
gits a start on my own? No use, Kit; that's too slow! Time you got a
proper roll you'd be so old the skeeters wouldn't even bite you, to say
nothin' of a gal a-kissin' of you. 'Pears like you ain't liable to git
thar very quick, Kit, 'less you rustles mighty peart somewhar. Talkin'
of rustlin', what's the matter with that anyway?"

A cold glitter came in Kit's light blue eyes. The muscles of his lean,
square jaws worked nervously. His right hand dropped caressingly on the
handle of his pistol.

"That's the proper caper, Kit. Why didn't