at afternoon. A man might
ride up to Bart and assert that he was an old hand with cattle, and Bart
would say nothing, but set him to work, as he had Bud. Then he would
know just how old a "Hand" the fellow was. Fifteen minutes convinced
him that Bud had "growed up in the saddle", as he would have put it. But
that only mystified him the more. Bart knew the range, and he knew every
man in the country, from Burroback Valley, which was this great valley's
name, to the Black Rim, beyond the mountain range, and beyond the Black
Rim to the Sawtooth country. He knew their ways and he knew their past
records.

He knew that this young fellow came from farther ranges, and he would
have been at a loss to explain just how he knew it. He would have said
that Bud did not have the "earmarks" of an Idaho rider. Furthermore, the
small Tomahawk brand on the left flank of the horse Bud rode was totally
unknown to Bart. Yet the horse did not bear the marks of long riding.
Bud himself looked as if he had just ridden out from some nearby
ranch--and he had refused to say where he was from.

Bart swore under his breath and beckoned to him a droopy-mustached,
droopy-shouldered rider who was circling the herd in a droopy,
spiritless manner and chewing tobacco with much industry.

"Dirk, you know brands from the Panhandle to Cypress Hills. What d' yuh
make of that horse? Where does he come from?" Bart stopped abruptly and
rode forward then to receive and drive farther back a galloping AJBar
cow which Bud and Stopper had just hazed out of the herd. Dirk squinted
at Stopper's brand which showed cleanly in the glossy, new hair of early
summer. He spat carefully with the wind and swung over to meet his boss
when the cow was safely in the cut herd.

"New one on me, Bart. They's a hatchet brand over close to Jackson's
Hole, somewhere. Where'd the kid say he was from?"

"He wouldn't say, but he's a sure-enough cowhand."

"That there horse ain't been rode down on no long journey," Dirk
volunteered after further scrutiny. And he added with the unconscious
impertinence of an old and trusted employee, "Yuh goin' to put him on?"

"Already done it--sixty a month," Bart confided. "That'll bring out
what's in him; he's liable to turn out good for the outfit. Showed he'll
do what he's told first, and think it over afterwards. I like that there
trait in a man."

Dirk pulled his droopy mustache away from his lips as if he wanted to
make sure that his smile