THERE chanced to be nobody working out of headquarters at the time of Barrett's arrival on the range. The long, shed-like bunkhouse stood untenanted, the big corrals were empty of horses. Only old Manuel, the Mexican man of all work, and his fat wife Teresa, were to be seen of all the retainers of that great enterprise when Barrett walked abroad before sunrise that morning. Even Dan Gustin had disappeared. The dusty wagon that had carried them from Saunders to the ranch Barrett saw standing lonely and deserted before the barn. Dan had taken horse and gone off silently the night before to join his detail.
Barrett grinned as he thought he saw a reason behind this silent departure. Dan did not want to be nurse to this beginner. Let somebody else take the greenhorn by the hand and lead him into the rough and rugged trails of adventure which he sought.
The greenhorn did not blame Dan for this. He knew very well what a task it was to break another into the routine that has become second nature to one's self. He was rather relieved than disappointed over Dan's going, knowing that a certain humiliation attaches to the one encumbered by a rookie in any of these hard-handling jobs, such as soldiering and sailing the seas, and riding the range in a Mexican saddle.
Viewed by the light of a new day, and from another
