An unmistakable cattleman--grizzly-haired, square-shouldered and
substantial--was driving the wild looking team. Beside him sat a
motherly woman and a little boy.
As they passed the clump of bushes the near horse of the half-broken
pair gave a catlike bound to the right against his tracemate. A second
jump followed the first with flash-like quickness; and this time the
frightened animal was accompanied by his companion, who, not knowing
what it was all about, jumped on general principles. But, quick as they
were, the strength of the driver's skillful arms met their weight on the
reins and forced them to keep the road.
"You blamed fools"--the driver chided good-naturedly, as they plunged
ahead--"been raised on a cow ranch to get scared at a calf in the
brush!"
Very slowly the stranger came from behind the bushes. Cautiously he
returned to the road. His fine lips curled in a curious mocking smile.
But it was himself that he mocked, for there was a look in his dark eyes
that gave to his naturally strong face an almost pathetic expression of
self-depreciation and shame.
As the pedestrian crossed the creek at the Burnt Ranch, Joe Conley,
leading a horse by a riata which was looped as it had fallen about the
animal's neck, came through the big corral gate across the road from
the house.
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