him as he swung into the trail taken by the man who had left not long
before.

Where he went, that afternoon when for some reason sufficient for the
foreman--who was Chip Bennett--the Flying U roundup crew lay
luxuriously snoring in the shade instead of riding hurriedly and hotly
the high divides, no one but Andy himself knew. They talked about him
after he left, and told one another how great a liar he was, and how
he couldn't help it because he was born that way, and how you could
hardly help believing him. They recalled joyously certain of his
fabrications that had passed into the history of the Flying U, and
wondered what josh he was trying to spring this time.

"What we ought to do," advised Cal, "is to lead him on and let him lie
his darndest, and make out we believe him. And then we can give him
the laugh good and plenty--and maybe cure him."

"Cure nothing!" exclaimed Jack Bates, getting up because the sun had
discovered him, and going over to the mess-wagon where a bit of shade
had been left unoccupied. "About the only way to cure Andy of lying,
is to kill him. He was working his way up to some big josh, and if yuh
let him alone you'll find out what it is, all right. I wouldn't worry
none about it, if I was you." To prove that he did not worry, Jack
immediately went to sleep.

Such being the attitude of the Happy Family, when Andy rode hurriedly
into camp at sundown, his horse wet to the tips of his ears with
sweat, they sat up, expectancy writ large upon their faces. No one
said anything, however, while Andy unsaddled and came over to beg a
belated supper from the cook; nor yet while he squatted on his heels
beside the cook-tent and ate hungrily. He seemed somewhat absorbed in
his thoughts, and they decided mentally that Andy was a sure-enough
good actor, and that if they were not dead next to him and his
particular weakness, they would swallow his yarn whole--whatever it
was. A blood-red glow was in the sky to the west, and it lighted
Andy's face queerly, like a vivid blush on the face of a girl.

Andy scraped his plate thoughtfully with his knife, looked into his
coffee-cup, stirred the dregs absently and dipped out half a spoonful
of undissolved sugar, which he swallowed meditatively. He tossed
plate, cup and spoon toward the dishpan, sent knife and fork after
them and got out his smoking material. And the Happy Family, grouped
rather closely together and watching unobtrusively, stirred to the
listen