e great, lonely
thicket of the Frio bottoms.

It was a mere nothing for a cattleman or a sheepman to be lost for a
day or a night. The thing often happened. It was merely a matter of
missing a meal or two and sleeping comfortably on your saddle blankets
on a soft mattress of mesquite grass. But in Sam's case it was
different. He had never been away from his ranch at night. Marthy was
afraid of the country--afraid of Mexicans, of snakes, of panthers, even
of sheep. So he had never left her alone.

It must have been about four in the afternoon when Sam's conscience
awoke. He was limp and drenched, rather from anxiety than the heat or
fatigue. Until now he had been hoping to strike the trail that led to
the Frio crossing and the Chapman ranch. He must have crossed it at
some dim part of it and ridden beyond. If so he was now something like
fifty miles from home. If he could strike a ranch--a camp--any place
where he could get a fresh horse and inquire the road, he would ride
all night to get back to Marthy and the kid.

So, I have hinted, Sam was seized by remorse. There was a big lump in
his throat as he thought of the cross words he had spoken to his wife.
Surely it was hard enough for her to live in that horrible country
without having to bear the burden of his abuse. He cursed himself
grimly, and felt a sudden flush of shame that over-glowed the summer
heat as he remembered the many times he had flouted and railed at her
because she had a liking for reading fiction.

"Ther only so'ce ov amusement ther po' gal's got," said Sam aloud, with
a sob, which unaccustomed sound caused Mexico to shy a bit. "A-livin'
with a sore-headed kiote like me--a low-down skunk that ought to be
licked to death with a saddle cinch--a-cookin' and a-washin' and
a-livin' on mutton and beans and me abusin' her fur takin' a squint or
two in a little book!"

He thought of Marthy as she had been when he first met her in
Dogtown--smart, pretty, and saucy--before the sun had turned the roses
in her cheeks brown and the silence of the chaparral had tamed her
ambitions.

"Ef I ever speaks another hard word to ther little gal," muttered Sam,
"or fails in the love and affection that's coming to her in the deal, I
hopes a wildcat'll t'ar me to pieces."

He knew what he would do. He would write to Garcia & Jones, his San
Antonio merchants where he bought his supplies and sold his wool, and
have them send down a big box of novels and r