on
or preliminaries, the buckskin's head had dived between his legs, his
back arched like an indignant cat's, and with a vicious squeal he began
to pitch.

Dunne drew his quirt and let him have it. The brown, plaited leather
played like lightning on quarters, flanks, cached head, and flattened
ears.

"No work, and a bellyful of oats three times a day!" he gritted.
"Forgotten who's your boss, hey? I'll show you, you hammer-headed,
saffron-hided----"

"Stay with him, Casey!"

Dunne turned his head, and shut his teeth upon forthcoming references
to his steed's pedigree. A girl, brown, lean, aquiline of feature, sat
astride a big slashing bay, and watched the contest with amusement.
Dunne's face, red from exertion, deepened in colour; for some of his
remarks, though exceedingly apposite, had not been intended for
feminine ears. He answered, between pitches, in the vernacular:

"You bet I will, Sheila! Go to it, old son! Bump to glory if you like!"

But as suddenly as he had begun the buckskin desisted. He heaved a
sigh, stood still, and turned a mildly inquiring, backward eye on his
rider. It was as if he had said: "What! Still there? You surprise me!"

Sheila McCrae laughed. "He's passing it off as a joke, Casey."

"He nearly got me, the old sinner," said Dunne. "Now he'll be good till
next time. You miserable, imitation bad horse, some day I'll manhandle
you."

"Shiner knows you won't," the girl commented.

"He knows you're fond of him. You'll quirt him when he pitches, and
then give him an extra feed."

"Well, maybe," Casey admitted shamelessly. "I like the old hyena. I've
frazzled out leather on his hide that cost more than he did, but I
never went after him right. He certainly can drift when he has to.
What's the news, Sheila? All well at the ranch?"

She nodded, running a keen eye over his face. "All well. But you're the
news bureau, Casey."

"Am I?" he said. "Well, then, I haven't a piece of good news in my
saddlebags--not one."

"I knew it," she said. "Well, it can't be helped, Casey. There will be
some way out. Let's go on to the ranch. Supper will be ready. Most of
the men won't come till afterward. I won't be at your council of war,
but I want you to let me know just what you decide on."

"Of course," he replied. "You've got a better head than most men,
Sheila. I don't know what we will do--haven't a notion. It looks as
though we were up against a tough proposition."

His dejection was appar