. He bought the outfit in a terrible
hurry, an' I thinks to m'self at the time he must be awful trustin', or
else a mighty right smart jedge uh land an' cattle. He couldn't of hardly
rid over it even once real thorough before he plunks down his money, gets
him a proper title, an' hikes off to the war, leavin' Joe Bloss in
charge."

He paused, fished in his pocket, and, producing a plug, carefully bit off
one corner. Stratton watched him impatiently, a faint flush staining his
clear, curiously white skin.

"Well?" he prodded presently. "What happened then? From what I know of
Joe, I'll say he made good all right."

"Sure he did." Pop spoke with emphasis, though somewhat thickly. "There
ain't nobody can tell Joe Bloss much about cattle. He whirled in right
capable and got things runnin' good. For a while he was so danged busy
he'd hardly ever get to town, but come winter the work eased up an' I used
to see him right frequent. He'd set there alongside the stove evenings an'
tell me what he was doin', or how he'd jest had a letter from Stratton,
who was by now in France, an' all the rest of it. Wal, to make a long
story short, a year last month the letters stopped comin'. Joe begun to
get worried, but I told him likely Stratton was too busy fightin' to
write, or he might even of got wounded. Yuh could have knocked me down
with a wisp uh bunch-grass when one uh the boys come in one night with a
Phoenix paper, an' showed me Stratton's name on a list uh killed or
missin'!"

"When was that?" asked Buck briefly, seeing that Daggett evidently
expected some comment. If only the man would get on!

"'Round the middle of September. Joe was jest naturally shot to pieces,
him knowin' young Stratton from a kid an' likin' him fine, besides bein'
consid'able worried about what was goin' to happen to the ranch an' him.
Still an' all, there wasn't nothin' he could do but go on holdin' down his
job, which he done until the big bust along the end of October."

He paused again expectantly. Buck ground the butt of his cigarette under
one heel and reached for the makings. He had an almost irresistible desire
to take the garrulous old man by the shoulders and shake him till his
teeth rattled.

"It was this here Thorne from Chicago," resumed Daggett, a trifle
disappointed. Usually at this point of the story, his listener broke in
with exclamation or interested question. "He showed up one morning with
the sheriff an' claimed the ranch was h