ssed because of his continued
absence. Sometimes, in the corral, he would see men walk slowly in and
out of the ranch-house, or come to a halt outside his fence and stand
for long minutes gazing at him, a look in their eyes, he thought, though
he was not quite sure, of pity mingled with sorrow. But though these men
came to him frequently, yet they rarely ever spoke to him; even as his
round-faced friend, though still regularly attentive, rarely ever spoke
to him now. It was all mysterious. He knew that something of a very
grave nature was in the air, but what it was and why his real master
never came to him as did the other men, he did not know, though
sometimes he would be obsessed with troubled thoughts that all was not
well with the young man.

Then one day, with spring descending upon the desert, he saw something
that quickened his interest in life. He saw a door open in the house,
saw a very thin young man appear on the threshold, saw him slowly
descend the steps and walk toward him. It was his master. Yet was it? He
pressed close to the fence, gazed at the man long and earnestly. Then he
knew. It was indeed the same young man. He was much thinner now than
when last he had come to him, and he seemed to lack his old-time energy,
but nevertheless it was he. In a moment he knew it for certain, for the
man held out a long, thin, white hand and called his name.

This was the beginning of the end. Thereafter two and three times a day
the young man came to him, sometimes in the corral, sometimes in the
stable, but always with each successive visit, it seemed to Pat,
revealing increasing buoyancy and strength. And finally there came a
day, bright and warm, when his master came to him, as it proved, to
remain with him. The young man was dressed for riding, and he was
surrounded by all the men Pat had ever seen about the place, and not a
few whose faces were new to him. They led him out of the stable into the
open, a dozen hands bridled and saddled him, then all crowded close in
joyful conversation.

"Well, sir," began the round-faced young man, slapping Pat resoundingly
upon the rump, "you're off again! And believe me I'm one that's right
sorry to see you go. I don't care nothin' about this pardner o'
yours--he don't count nohow, anyway. He's been sick 'most to death,
shore, but he's all right now as far as _that_ goes. His arm is all
healed up, and he's fit in every other way--_some_ ways--yet he's
takin' himself off fr