up. Who are you?"

Hiram swung his great frame from the creaking saddle.

"I'm Hiram Hooker," he announced, lowering the mare's reins and
advancing until a mouse-colored burro aimed a kick at him to show him
that he was a rank outsider whose company was not desired.

"Why, Muta, that ain't no way to act!" mildly expostulated the burro's
master. "She's just a mite playful," he explained apologetically to
Hiram. "Muta, she thinks a heap o' the ole man, ye see, an' she's
always lookin' out that strangers don't mean 'im any harm."

He placed both arms about the shaggy burro's neck. "You must be more
polite, Muta," he said chidingly, while the little animal trust out her
upper lip and nibbled at the large horn buttons on his dusty canvas
coat.

"Which way are you bound?" asked Hiram.

"South now. Just travelin'. Maybe I'll make it over to Rattlesnake
Buttes"--he raised an arm toward the northeast--"and maybe down Caldron
Canon way." He pointed southeast toward the mountains. "I dunno--just
driftin' along, me an' the little fellas. Sometimes we drift here, and
sometimes we drift there. Don't matter much, s'long's there's grub an'
a little rolled barley in the pack-bags. What's the dif'rence anyway?"
His red-lidded eyes looked up weirdly at Hiram.

Bent and pathetic he was, this old man of the hills and deserts--this
old lizard of the unfriendly sands. In his eyes all time seemed to
have written its history. His brows were shaggy and desert-colored,
like the brows of the Ancient Mariner whose scrawny, clutching fingers
robbed the Wedding Guest of his night of pleasure. His hands shook,
and he carried a long cane; but for him the merciless desert seemed to
hold no lasting terror, for he spent his life on its desert searching
for the treasure that is hidden there.

"Me and the little fellas just drift along. We get work at the camps
when our grubstake's gone; and then we ramble on and on--just driftin',
kinda. I got a ole jack rabbit for supper, pardner. He was sleepin'
under a sagebrush, and I puts out his eye with my six and twenty paces.
Can you do that? But you're young--young and got a clever eye.
Anyway, I got a ole jack for supper. Now, if you had a bottle on you
couldn't we have a time!"

"I've no bottle," Hiram said. "I'm sorry. But, if you'll invite me,
I'll help you with the jack."

"Got blankets behind yer saddle, I see. All right, my friend. Ole
Filer's always ready to share his gr