ce seemed
to await a few words, so he rose stiffly, and struck an attitude
somewhat akin to that of Henry Irving standing beside a milk-can and
contemplating the village pump. "It gives me great pleasure to inform
you"--he hesitated and cleared his throat--"that them there words of
mine was expired by half a rabbit--small--and two cans of coffee. Had
I been fed up like youse"--and he bowed grandly--"there's no tellin'
what I might 'a' writ. Thankin' you for the box-office receipts, I am
yours to demand, Sundown Slim, of Outdoors, Anywhere, till further
notice."

Then he marched histrionically to the ranchhouse and made a fire in the
rusted stove.

CHAPTER III

THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO

John Corliss rode up to the water-hole, dismounted, and pushed through
the gate. His horse "Chinook" watched him with gently inquisitive
eyes. Chinook was not accustomed to inattention when he was thirsty.
He had covered the thirty miles from the Concho Ranch in five long,
dry, and dusty hours. He nickered. "In a minute," said Corliss. Then
he knocked at the ranch-house door. Riders of the Concho usually
strode jingling into the ranch-house without formality. Corliss,
however, had been gazing at the lean stovepipe for hours before he
finally decided that there was smoke rising from it. He knocked a
second time.

"She ain't locked," came in a rusty, smothered voice.

Corliss shoved the door open with his knee. The interior was heavy
with smoke. Near the stove knelt Sundown trying to encourage the smoke
to more perpendicular behavior. He coughed. "She ain't good in her
intentions, this here stove. One time she goes and the next time she
stays and takes a smoke. Her innards is out of gear. Whew!"

"The damper has slipped down," said Corliss.

"Her little ole chest-pertector is kind o' worked down toward her
stummick. There, now she feels better a'ready."

"Cooking chuck?" queried Corliss, glancing round the bare room.

"Rabbit," replied Sundown. "When I hit this here hotel I was hungry.
I seen a rabbit--not this here one, but the other one. This one was
settin' in a bunch of-brush on me right-of-way. I was behind and
runnin' to make up time. I kind o' seen the leetle prairie-dog give me
the red to slow down, but it was too late. Hit his cyclone cellar with
me right driver, and got wrecked. This here leetle wad o' cotton was
under me steam-chest. No other passengers hurt, except the engineer."