rs and
tourists. But when it comes to cattle and sheep and mines, you can't
beat her. She sure is the Tiger Lily of the West. But let's step over
and see Tom. Excuse me a minute. There's a constituent who has somethin'
on his chest. I'll meet you at the station."

The Senator stepped out and talked with his constituent. Meanwhile,
Bartley turned to gaze down the street. A string of empty freight
wagons, followed by a lazy cloud of dust, rolled slowly toward town.
Here and there a bit of red showed in the dun mass of riders that
accompanied the wagons. A gay-colored blanket flickered in the sun. The
mesas radiated keen dry heat.

Bartley turned and crossed over to the station. He blinked the effects
of the white light from his eyes as he entered the telegraph office. The
operator, in shirt-sleeves, and smoking a brown-paper cigarette, nodded
and handed Bartley a service message stating that his effects would be
carried to Los Angeles and held for further orders.

"It's sure hot," said the operator. "Did you want to send another wire?"

Bartley shook his head. "Who is that stout man I bumped into trying to
catch my train?"

"That's Senator Steve Brown--State Senator. Thought you knew him."

"No. I just met him to-day."

The operator slumped down in his chair.

Bartley strode to the door and blinked in the Arizona sunshine. "By
George!" he murmured, "I always thought they wore those big Stetsons for
show. But all day in this sun--guess I'll have to have one."

CHAPTER IV

"A LITTLE GREEN RIVER"

To suddenly stop off at a cow-town station, without baggage or definite
itinerary, was unconventional, to say the least. Bartley was amused and
interested. Hitherto he had written more or less conventional
stuff--acceptable stories of the subway, the slums, the docks, and the
streets of Eastern cities. But now, as he strode over to the saloon, he
forgot that he was a writer of stories. A boyish longing possessed him
to see much of the life roundabout, even to the farthest, faint range of
hills--and beyond.

He felt that while he still owed something to his original plan of
visiting California, he could do worse than stay right where he was. He
had thought of wiring to have his baggage sent back. Then it occurred to
him that, aside from his shaving-kit and a few essentials, his baggage
comprised but little that he could use out here in the mesa country. And
he felt a certain relief in not having trunks to