ds very much like a
drunkard. "I've killed my Mamie hoss, that's all!"

And with this gloomy retort, he urged the mare to a down-headed trot. In
fact, the staunch little brown mare staggered on tired legs and her
sides heaved like bellows. The grey horse of Red Jim Perris was in
hardly better condition.

"I wanted you quickly," said Marianne, a little horrified. "But I didn't
ask you to kill your horses coming."

"Kill 'em?" said Perris, and he cast a sharp glance of disapproval at
her. "Not much! That hoss of mine is a pile fagged. I aim to get her
that way. But she'll be fit as a fiddle in the morning. I ride her till
she's through and never a step more. I know the minute she's through
working on muscle and starts working on her nerve, and when that time
comes, I stop. I've put up in the middle of nowheres to let her get back
her wind. Kill her? Nope, lady, and the only reason Shorty's hoss was so
used up was because he plumb insisted on keeping up with us!"

And Marianne nodded. Ordinarily such a speech would have drawn argument
from her. Indeed, her own submissiveness startled her as she found
herself gently inviting the fire eater to come into the house and learn
in detail the work which lay before him.

CHAPTER XII

FROM THE HIP

Shorty rode for the bunkhouse instead of the corrals and tumbling out
of the saddle he staggered through the door. Inside, the cowpunchers sat
about enjoying a before-dinner smoke and the coolness which the evening
wash had brought to their wind-parched skins. Shorty reeled through the
midst of them to his bunk and collapsed upon it.

Not a man stirred. Not an eye followed him. No matter what curiosity was
burning in their vitals, etiquette demanded that they ask no questions.
If in no other wise, the Indian has left his stamp on the country in the
manners of the Western riders.

In the meantime, Shorty lay on his back with his arms flung out
crosswise, his eyes closed, his breath expelled with a moan and drawn in
with a rattle.

"Slim!" he called at length.

Slim raised his little freckled face which was supported by a neck of
uncanny length, and he blinked unconcernedly at his bunkie. He and
Shorty were inseparable companions.

"Take the saddle off my horse and put 'er up," groaned Shorty. "I'm dead
beat!"

"Maybe you been chasing Perris on foot," observed Lew Hervey. Direct
questions were still not in order, but often a man could be taunted into
speech.

"Damn P