hore good for sore eyes," drawled still another.

After a long period of absence Dale always experienced a singular warmth
of feeling when he met these acquaintances. It faded quickly when he got
back to the intimacy of his woodland, and that was because the people of
Pine, with few exceptions--though they liked him and greatly admired his
outdoor wisdom--regarded him as a sort of nonentity. Because he loved
the wild and preferred it to village and range life, they had classed
him as not one of them. Some believed him lazy; others believed him
shiftless; others thought him an Indian in mind and habits; and there
were many who called him slow-witted. Then there was another side to
their regard for him, which always afforded him good-natured amusement.
Two of this group asked him to bring in some turkey or venison; another
wanted to hunt with him. Lem Harden came out of the store and appealed
to Dale to recover his stolen horse. Lem's brother wanted a wild-running
mare tracked and brought home. Jesse Lyons wanted a colt broken, and
broken with patience, not violence, as was the method of the hard-riding
boys at Pine. So one and all they besieged Dale with their selfish
needs, all unconscious of the flattering nature of these overtures. And
on the moment there happened by two women whose remarks, as they entered
the store, bore strong testimony to Dale's personality.

"If there ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed the older of the two. "How lucky!
My cow's sick, an' the men are no good doctorin'. I'll jest ask Milt
over."

"No one like Milt!" responded the other woman, heartily.

"Good day there--you Milt Dale!" called the first speaker. "When you git
away from these lazy men come over."

Dale never refused a service, and that was why his infrequent visits to
Pine were wont to be prolonged beyond his own pleasure.

Presently Beasley strode down the street, and when about to enter the
store he espied Dale.

"Hullo there, Milt!" he called, cordially, as he came forward with
extended hand. His greeting was sincere, but the lightning glance he
shot over Dale was not born of his pleasure. Seen in daylight, Beasley
was a big, bold, bluff man, with strong, dark features. His aggressive
presence suggested that he was a good friend and a bad enemy.

Dale shook hands with him.

"How are you, Beasley?"

"Ain't complainin', Milt, though I got more work than I can rustle.
Reckon you wouldn't take a job bossin' my sheep-herders?"

"