ing horse! They're the reason I had never really sized up
the old man the few times I'd passed him.

"Well, he's a tough bird," said Jed.

"Looks like a harmless old cuss--but mean," says I.

"About this trip," said Jed, after I'd saddled and coiled my
rope--"don't, and say you did."

I didn't answer this, but led my horse to the gate.

"Well, don't say as how I didn't tell you all about it," said Jed, going
back to the bunk house.

Miserable old coot! I suppose he thought he _had_ told me all about it!
Jed was always too loquacious!

But I hadn't racked along more than two miles before a man cantered up
who was perfectly able to express himself. He was one of our outfit and
was known as Windy Bill. Nuff said!

"Hear you're goin' up to stay the night at Hooper's," said he. "Know
Hooper?"

"No, I don't," said I, "are you another of these Sunbirds with glad
news?"

"Know about Hooper's boomerang?"

"Boomerang!" I replied, "what's that?"

"That's what they call it. You know how of course we all let each
other's strays water at our troughs in this country, and send 'em back
to their own range at round up."

"Brother, you interest me," said I, "and would you mind informing me
further how you tell the dear little cows apart?"

"Well, old Hooper don't, that's all," went on Windy, without paying me
any attention. "He built him a chute leading to the water corrals, and
half way down the chute he built a gate that would swing across it and
open a hole into a dry corral. And he had a high platform with a handle
that ran the gate. When any cattle but those of his own brands came
along, he had a man swing the gate and they landed up into the dry
corral. By and by he let them out on the range again."

"Without water?"

"Sure! And of course back they came into the chute. And so on. Till they
died, or we came along and drove them back home."

"Windy," said I, "you're stuffing me full of tacks."

"I've seen little calves lyin' in heaps against the fence like drifts of
tumbleweed," said Windy, soberly; and then added, without apparent
passion, "The old----!"

Looking at Windy's face, I knew these words for truth.

"He's a bad _hombre_," resumed Windy Bill after a moment. "He never does
no actual killing himself, but he's got a bad lot of oilers[A] there,
especially an old one named Andreas and another one called Ramon, and
all he has to do is to lift one eye at a man he don't like and that man
is as good as dea