hodes. "What's the excitement?"

"Why you young plantation stray!" and the older man reached for his
hand and made use of it pump-handle fashion with a sort of sputtering
glee. "Great guns, boy! there was just one K. Rhodes a-top of God's
green earth and we were pardners here in Crook's day. Hurrah for us!
Are you cousin, son, or nephew?"

"My grandfather was with Crook."

"Sure! I knew it soon as I laid eyes on you and heard your name; that
was in the corral with the outlaw Conrad had driven in for you to
work, it wa'n't a square deal to a white man. I was cussin' mad."

"So I heard," and the blue eyes of the other smiled at the memory of
the girl's glib repetition of his discourse. "What's the great idea?
Aside from the fact that he belongs to the white dove, anti-military
bunch of sisters, Singleton seems quite white, a nice chap."

"Yeh, but he's noways wise at that. He sort of married into the horse
game here, wasn't bred to it. Just knows enough to not try to run it
solo. Now this Dolf Conrad does know horses and the horse market, and
Granados rancho. He's shipped more cavalry stock to France than any
other outfit in this region. Yes, Conrad knows the business end of the
game, but even at that he might not assay as high grade ore. He is
mixed up with them too-proud-to-fight clique organized by old maids of
both sexes, and to show that he is above all prejudice, political or
otherwise, he sure is corraling an extra lot of Mex help this year.
I've _companeros_ I'd go through hell for, but Conrad's breed--well,
enough said, Bub, but they're different!" Mr. Pike bit off a chew of
black plug, and shook his head ruminatively.

Rhodes looked the old man over as they rode along side by side. He was
lean, wiry and probably sixty-five. His hair, worn long, gave him the
look of the old-time ranger. He carried no _reata_ and did not look
like a ranchman. He had the southern intonation, and his eyes were
wonderfully young for the almost snowy hair.

"Belong in the valley, Captain?"

"Belong? Me belong anywhere? Not yet, son," and he smiled at his own
fancy. "Not but what it's a good enough corner when a man reaches the
settlin' down age. I drift back every so often. This ranch was Fred
Bernard's, and him and me flocked together for quite a spell.
Singleton married Bernard's widow--she's dead now these seven years. I
just drift back every so often to keep track of Bernard's kid,
Billie."

"I see. Glad to have met you