his sleeves, and
waded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots with
staccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from an
inundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moody
baritone reached up and up with sad persistency.

Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real love
for music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did not
smile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its own
recognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performance
on that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there was
something more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk.

Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sight
as long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumps
and makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keep
her from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behind
them two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started in
younger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When I
been settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so het
up and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takes
to shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleep
afore mornin'."

And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyed
him with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--this
music. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort of
person."

"I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'lar
outfit of tunes for dances."

Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heard
them players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin'
better."

Bud Shoop grinned. "That's the way with Bondsman here. Now he won't open
his head to one of them paper tunes. I've tried 'em all on him. You
can't tell me a dog ain't got feelin's."

Chapter XV

_John and Demijohn_

The grass on the high mesa was heavy with dew when Lorry stepped from
the cabin next morning. His pony, Gray Leg, stood close to the corral,
where Shoop's horses were playfully biting at him over the bars. Lorry
unhobbled Gray Leg and turned Shoop's horses out to water. The three
ponies trotted to the water-hole, sniffed at the water, and, whirling,
raced across the mesa, pitching and kicking in the joy of liberation.

After breakfa