hrough sand and alkali, the attention he gave either herds or outfit
was negligible. In fact he scarcely touched at the camp, yet always
did some trifling official act coming or going to make record that he
had been there.

The Mexicans called him El Aoura, the buzzard, because no man could
tell when he would swoop over even the farthest range of La Partida to
catch them napping. Yet there was some sort of curious bond between
them for there were times when Conrad came north as from a long
southern trail, yet the Mexicans were as dumb men if it was referred
to.

He was a compactly built, fair man of less than forty, with thin
reddish brown hair, brows slanting downward from the base of the
nose, and a profile of that curious Teuton type reminiscent of a
supercilious hound if one could imagine such an animal with milk-blue
eyes and a yellow mustache with spiky turned-up ends.

But Rhodes did not permit any antipathy he might feel towards the man
to interfere with his own duties, and he went stolidly about the range
work as if in utter forgetfulness of the dark prophecy of the girl.

If he was to lose his new job he did not mean that it should be from
inattention, and nothing was too trifling for his notice. He would do
the work of a range boss twelve hours out of the day, and then put in
extra time on a night ride to the _cantina_ at the south wells of La
Partida.

But as the work moved north and the consignment of horses for France
made practically complete, old Cap Pike rode down to Granados corrals,
and after contemplation of the various activities of Rhodes, climbed
up on the corral fence beside him, where the latter was checking off
the accepted animals.

"You're a cheerful idiot for work, Bub," agreed the old man, "but what
the devil do you gain by doing so much of the other fellow's job?
Pancho Martinez wasn't sick as he played off on you; you're green to
these Mexican tricks."

"Sure, I'm the original Green from Greenburg," assented his new
_companero_. "Pancho was only more than usually drunk last night,
while I was fresh as a daisy and eager to enlarge my geographic
knowledge, also my linguistics, Hi! Pedro! not the sorrel mare! Cut
her out!"

"Linguistics?" repeated Pike impatiently.

"Yeh, nice little woman in the cantina at La Partida wells. I am a
willing pupil at Spanish love songs, and we get along fine. I am
already a howling success at _La Paloma_, _La Golondrina_, and a few
other sentiment