"No, just a dead coyote," said Peter. "Sister ran him down yesterday. Ain't a dog in the State outside of a greyhound can touch her."
Douglas made a flying leap into the saddle while the Moose whirled on his hind legs.
"Some horse, Doug!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I'll swap this and a two-year-older heifer for him."
"I'm afraid he might hurt you. He's a regular man's horse, Jimmy." Doug lighted a cigarette while the Moose reared.
"Thanks," grunted Jimmy. "Say, did you know Scott Parsons has had four young calves by one milch cow, all the same age? Ree-markable man, Scott. Say, I was by there the other day and there sat Scott in the corral on Ginger cracking a black snake at this fool cow to make her let those four slicks eat. He'll die rich, Scott will. He's the calf-gettingest rider in the Rockies."
Douglas turned the Moose into the home trail. When he reached the ranch, Judith was strolling in the main corral with her arm about the neck of the bull Scott had given her. He would follow Judith about like a pet dog but would allow no one else to touch him.
"When he is a little older, you won't be able to play with him that way, Jude," said Douglas, eying the pair with admiration not untinctured with apprehension.
It was a brilliant afternoon, with the western sun throwing long golden shadows across old Dead Line Peak. The corral with its fringe of quivering aspens a silvery lavender; the great red bull; the young girl with her noble proportions, rubbing the brute's ferocious head with one slender brown hand, made an unforgettable picture. The puppy, Wolf Cub, was chewing an old boot beside the alfalfa stack.
"He'll always be fond of me if I handle him right,"
