Then the Senator escorted Bartley to the bathroom. The tub was already
filled with steaming water. A row of snow-white towels hung on the rack.
The Senator waved his hand and, stepping out, closed the door.

A few minutes later he knocked at the bathroom door. "There's a spare
razor in the cabinet, and all the fixings. And when you're ready there's
a pair of clean socks on the doorknob."

Bartley heard the Senator's heavy, deliberate step as he passed down the
hallway.

"A little 'Green River,' a hot bath, and clean socks," murmured Bartley.
"Things might be worse."

His tired muscles relaxed under the beneficent warmth of the bath. He
shaved, dressed, and stepped out into the hall. He sniffed. "Chicken!"
he murmured soulfully.

Mrs. Senator Brown was supervising the cooking of a dinner that Bartley
never forgot. Boiled chicken, dumplings, rich gravy, mashed potatoes,
creamed carrots, sliced tomatoes--to begin with. And then the pie!
Bartley furnished the appetite.

But that was not until after the Senator had returned from the
bunk-house. He had seen to it that Cheyenne had had a bucket of hot
water, soap, and towels and grease for his sore feet. In direct and
effectual kindliness, without obviously expressed sympathy, the
Westerner is peculiarly supreme.

Back in the living-room Bartley made himself comfortable, admiring the
generous proportions of the house, the choice Indian blankets, the wide
fireplace, and the general solidity of everything, which reflected the
personality of his hosts.

Presently the Senator came in. "Cheyenne tells me that somebody set you
afoot, down at the water-hole."

"Did he also tell you about your bull?"

"No! Is that how he came to tear his jeans?"

Bartley nodded. And he told the Senator of their recent experience in
the gulch.

The Senator chuckled. "Don't say a word to Mrs. Brown about it. I'll
have Cheyenne in, after dinner, and sweat it out of him. You see,
Cheyenne won't eat with us. He always eats with the boys. No use asking
him to eat in here. And, say, Bartley, we've got a little surprise for
you. One of my boys caught up your horse, old Dobe. Dobe was dragging a
rope. Looks like he broke away from some one. I had him turned into the
corral. Dobe was raised on this range."

"Broke loose and came back!" exclaimed Bartley. "That's good news,
Senator. I like that horse."

"But Cheyenne is out of luck," said the Senator. "He thought more of
those horses, Filar