f the vaqueros, and the shouts and banterings of
the cowboys. They took sharp orders and replied in jest. They went about
this stern toil as if it were a game to be played in good humor. One
sang a rollicking song, another whistled, another smoked a cigarette.
The sun was hot, and they, like their horses, were dripping with sweat.
The characteristic red faces had taken on so much dust that cowboys
could not be distinguished from vaqueros except by the difference in
dress. Blood was not wanting on tireless hands. The air was thick,
oppressive, rank with the smell of cattle and of burning hide.

Madeline began to sicken. She choked with dust, was almost stifled
by the odor. But that made her all the more determined to stay there.
Florence urged her to come away, or at least move back out of the
worst of it. Stillwell seconded Florence. Madeline, however, smilingly
refused. Then her brother said: "Here, this is making you sick. You're
pale." And she replied that she intended to stay until the day's work
ended. Al gave her a strange look, and made no more comment. The kindly
Stillwell then began to talk.

"Miss Majesty, you're seein' the life of the cattleman an' cowboy--the
real thing--same as it was in the early days. The ranchers in Texas an'
some in Arizona hev took on style, new-fangled idees thet are good,
an' I wish we could follow them. But we've got to stick to the
old-fashioned, open-range round-up. It looks cruel to you, I can see
thet. Wal, mebbe so, mebbe so. Them Greasers are cruel, thet's certain.
Fer thet matter, I never seen a Greaser who wasn't cruel. But I reckon
all the strenuous work you've seen to-day ain't any tougher than most
any day of a cowboy's life. Long hours on hossback, poor grub, sleepin'
on the ground, lonesome watches, dust an' sun an' wind an' thirst, day
in an' day out all the year round--thet's what a cowboy has.

"Look at Nels there. See, what little hair he has is snow-white. He's
red an' thin an' hard--burned up. You notice thet hump of his shoulders.
An' his hands, when he gets close--jest take a peep at his hands. Nels
can't pick up a pin. He can't hardly button his shirt or untie a knot in
his rope. He looks sixty years--an old man. Wal, Nels 'ain't seen forty.
He's a young man, but he's seen a lifetime fer every year. Miss Majesty,
it was Arizona thet made Nels what he is, the Arizona desert an' the
work of a cowman. He's seen ridin' at Canyon Diablo an' the Verdi an'
Tonto Bas