soms; gray coffee-berry bushes clumped
up against the sides of ridges, and in every sheltered place the long
grass waved its last-year's banners, while the fresh green of tender
growth matted the open ground like a lawn. Baby rabbits, feeding along
their runways in the grass, sat up at his approach or hopped
innocently into the shadow of the sheltering cat-claws; jack-rabbits
with black-tipped ears galloped madly along before him, imagining
themselves pursued, and in every warm sandy place where the lizards
took the sun there was a scattering like the flight of arrows as the
long-legged swift-jacks rose up on their toes and flew. All nature was
in a gala mood and Rufus Hardy no less. Yet as he rode along, gazing
at the dreamy beauty of this new world, the old far-away look crept
back into his eyes, a sad, brooding look such as one often sees in
the faces of little children who have been crossed, and the stern
lines at the corners of his mouth were deeper when he drew rein above
Carrizo Creek.

Below him lay the panorama of a mountain valley--the steep and rocky
walls; the silvery stream writhing down the middle; the green and
yellow of flowers along the lowlands; and in the middle, to give it
life, a great herd of cattle on the _parada_ ground, weaving and
milling before the rushes of yelling horsemen, intent on cutting out
every steer in the herd. Beyond lay the corrals of peeled cottonwood,
and a square house standing out stark and naked in the supreme
ugliness of corrugated iron, yet still oddly homelike in a land where
shelter was scarce. As he gazed, a mighty voice rose up to him from
the midst of the turmoil, the blatting of calves, the mooing of cows
and the hoarse thunder of mountain bulls:

"Hel-lo, Rufe!"

From his place on the edge of the herd Hardy saw Jefferson Creede,
almost herculean on his tall horse, waving a large black hat.
Instantly he put spurs to his sorrel and leaped down the narrow trail,
and at the edge of the herd they shook hands warmly, for friends are
scarce, wherever you go.

"Jest in time!" said Creede, grinning his welcome, "we're goin' over
into Hell's Hip Pocket to-morrow--the original hole in the ground--to
bring out Bill Johnson's beef critters, and I sure wanted you to make
the trip. How'd you git along with Jasp?"

"All right," responded Hardy, "he didn't make me any trouble. But I'm
glad to get away from that sheep smell, all the same."

The big cowboy fixed his eyes upon h