ollar with a black
"shoe-string" necktie. If Bondsman had lacked any further proof of his
master's intention to journey far, the canvas telescope suitcase would
have been conclusive evidence.

The dog sat in the doorway of the office, oblivious to the clerk's
friendly assurances that his master would return poco tiempo. Bondsman
was not deceived by this kindly attempt to soothe his loneliness.

Toward evening the up-stage buzzed into town. Bondsman trotted over to
it, watched a rancher and his wife alight, sniffed at them incuriously,
and trotted back to the office. That settled it. His master would be
away indefinitely.

When the clerk locked up that evening, Bondsman had disappeared.

As Bronson stepped from his cabin the following morning he was startled
to see the big Airedale leap from the veranda of Shoop's cabin and bound
toward him. Then he understood. The camp had been Bondsman's home. The
supervisor had gone to Criswell. Evidently the dog preferred the lonely
freedom of the Blue Mesa to the monotonous confines of town.

Bronson called to his daughter. "We have a visitor this morning,
Dorothy."

"Why, it's Bondsman! Where is Mr. Shoop?"

"Most natural question. Mr. Shoop had to leave Jason on business.
Bondsman couldn't go, so he trotted up here to pay us a visit."

"He's hungry. I know it. Come, Bondsman."

From that moment he attached himself to Dorothy, following her about
that day and the next and the next. But when night came he invariably
trotted over to Shoop's cabin and slept on the veranda. Dorothy wondered
why he would not sleep at their camp.

"He's very friendly," she told her father. "He will play and chase
sticks and growl, and pretend to bite when I tickle him, but he does it
all with a kind of mental reservation. Yesterday, when we were having
our regular frolic after breakfast, he stopped suddenly and stood
looking out across the mesa, and it was only my pony, just coming from
the edge of the woods. Bondsman tries to be polite, but he is really
just passing the time while he is waiting for Mr. Shoop."

"You don't feel flattered, perhaps. But don't you admire him all the
more for it?"

"I believe I do. Poor Bondsman! It's just like being a social pet, isn't
it? Have to appear happy whether you are or not."

Bondsman knew that she proffered sympathy, and he licked her hand
lazily, gazing up at her with bright, unreadable eyes.

* * * * *

Bud Shoo