packed burro
that poked its nose around a group of Joshuas, stopped abruptly and
backed precipitately into another burro which swung out of the trail
and went careening awkwardly down the slope. The stampeding burro had
not seen the Ford at all, but accepted the testimony of its leader that
something was radically wrong with the trail ahead. His pack bumped
against the yuccas as he went; after him lurched a large man, heavy to
the point of fatness, yelling hoarse threats and incoherent
objurgations.

Casey threw down his armful of dead brush and went after the lead burro
which was blazing itself a trail in an entirely different direction.
The lead burro had four large canteens strapped outside its pack, and
Casey was growing so short of water that he had begun to debate
seriously the question of draining the radiator on the morrow.

I don't suppose many of you would believe the innate cussedness of a
burro when it wants to be that way. Casey hazed this one to the hills
and back down the trail for half a mile before he rushed it into a
clump of greasewood and sneaked up on it when it thought itself hidden
from all mortal eyes. After that he dug heels into the sand and hung
on. Memory resurrected for his need certain choice phrases coined in
times of stress for the ears of burros alone. Luxury and civilization
and fifty-five thousand dollars and a wife were as if they had never
been. He was Casey Ryan, the prospector, fighting a stubborn donkey
all over a desert slope. He led it conquered back to the Ford, tied it
to a wheel and lifted off the four canteens, gratified with their
weight and hoping there were more on the other burro. He had quite
forgotten that he had meant to lick the first man he saw, and grinned
when the fat man came toiling back with the other animal.

By the time their coffee was boiled and their bacon fried, each one
knew the other's past history and tentative plans for the future,
censored and glossed somewhat by the teller but received without
question or criticism.

The fat man's name was Barney Oakes, and he had heard of Casey Ryan and
was glad to meet him. Though Casey had never heard of Barney Oakes, he
discovered that they both knew Bill Masters, the garage man at Lund;
and further gossip revealed the amazing fact that Barney Oakes had once
been the husband of the woman whom Casey had very nearly married, the
widow who cooked for the Lucky Lode.

"Boy, you're sure lucky she turned