ll."

"Huh! I thought mebby that ole snake had hooked on to my jeans. He
sounded right mad, singin' lively, back in there. My laigs feel kind of
limp, right now."

Cheyenne felt of his torn overalls, shook his head, and then a slow
smile illumined his face. "How do you like this here country, anyhow?"

"Great!" said Bartley.

CHAPTER IX

AT THE BOX-S

When they emerged from the western end of the gulch, they paused to
rest. Not over a half-mile south stood the ranch-house, just back of a
row of giant cottonwoods.

Cheyenne pointed out the stables, corrals, and bunk-house. "A mighty
neat little outfit," he remarked, as they started on again.

"Little?"

"Senator Steve's only got about sixty thousand acres under fence."

"Then I'd like to see a big ranch," laughed Bartley.

"You can't. They ain't nothin' to see more'n you see right now. Why, I
know a outfit down in Texas that would call this here ranch their north
pasture--and they got three more about the same size, besides the
regular range. But standin' in any one place you can't see any more than
you do right now. Steve just keeps up this here ranch so he can have
elbow-room. Yonder comes one of his boys. Reckon he seen us."

A rider had just reined his horse round and was loping toward them.

"He seen we was afoot," said Cheyenne.

"Mighty decent of him--" began Bartley, but Cheyenne waved the
suggestion aside. "Decent nothin'! A man afoot looks as queer to a
waddie as we did to that ole bull."

The puncher loped up, recognized Cheyenne, nodded to Bartley, and seemed
to hesitate. Cheyenne made no explanation of their plight, so the
puncher simply turned back and loped toward the ranch-house.

"Just steppin' over to tell Steve we're here," said Cheyenne, as
Bartley's face expressed astonishment.

They plodded on, came to a gate, limped down a long lane, came to
another gate, and there Senator Steve met them.

"I'd 'a' sent a man with a buckboard if I had known you planned to walk
over from Antelope," he asserted, and his eyes twinkled.

Cheyenne frowned prodigiously. "Steve," he said slowly, "you can
lovin'ly and trustfully go plumb to hell!"

Cheyenne turned and limped slowly toward the bunk-house.

Mrs. Brown welcomed Bartley as the Senator ushered him into the
living-room. The Senator half-filled a tumbler from a cold, dark bottle
and handed it to Bartley.

"'Green River,'" he said.

"Mrs. Brown," said Bartley as he bowed.