T

EDDY MCARTHUR was blue. He wasn't often blue, but today his spirits sank like an elevator descending.

The sun shone brightly, the sky was cloudless, the roads were smooth and dry, and Beecher's big saddle bobbed like a cradle on springs. In Angel Gap, "Three-Bar" cattle grazed and bunched together. There was nothing to do but loaf. Yet, Reddy was blue.

"Whoa!" He dropped his reins, dismounting when the elevation afforded a panorama of "Three-Bar" lands and the broad, green valley of the Snake. The river, wide and rushing near-by, looked like a silvery ribbon below, the distant falls like a snowy feather. For miles, winding up to Snow Pass, the dusty red trail stood out like a bruise on the unbroken surface of sage. Here and there a few green patches suggested coolness and relief, and Beecher's keen eye appraised; but Reddy stretched himself on the brush, his thoughts were far from Beecher and grass. He had stolen away from "ThreeBar" to be all alone. Even Barger, the Even Barger, the congenial, the joker, the friend of all at "Three-Bar" and "Three-Bar" was the world to Reddy-would have been intolerable, now.

"She's going away," he muttered, scooping up a little pile of dust in his toughskinned palm and allowing it to sift slowly through his fingers. "She's going home, today." His fingers opened wide and all the dust disappeared. "Maybe "Maybe this'll be her last visit at "Three-Bar.'" He grabbed another handful of dust. "Said she might go abroad-for two years. It's her voice." Reddy filtered the second handful onto the toe of his boot. "Irish eyes are blue," he hummed, "Irish eyes are blue.' Don't see as she needs much voice trainin'. I'm not the only one she moves when she sings-wish I'd been more t' school-wish-" He chased an ant down his shirt-front and tucked the little creature through a diminutive casement in its castle.

“Oh, Girlie,” he murmured, suddenly

turning over, face downwards on the sage, "I love you, I-" His words smothered in his sombrero pressed firmly down under his face. The fragrant blue tips. closed over his head. On his mental screen the thought-lantern flashed a dainty picture, a fair-haired girl framed. freshness, a face that mocked solemnity and laughed him into smiles. Away through Angel Gap he galloped with her. A whistling wind drowned her voice and closed her eyes. Her head was thrown back; her cheeks glowed red, taking the full sting of wind and dust, and secretly Reddy admired the long, yellow pig-tail dangling at her back. He saw the little white eagle, the big, red "V" adorning the fluttering sleeve of the sailor blouse. Her hat flapped on her shoulder, covering the tiny anchor on her collar. "I love this," she laughed; "I just love it, Reddy."

The incident was always the same, and for hours Reddy clung to it.

At last Beecher whinnied. The sun scorched behind his saddle, and flies in myriads had conquered patience.

"Reddy, what the devil's the matter with you?" It was Barger's deep voice, and Reddy came up with a guilty start. Whirling circles, purple, blue and yellow, faded curiously into sage and familiar scenery. Barger was a silhouette against blue.

"A-ha, Barge ah-ha!" He laughed a mirthless little gurgle of a laugh. "II didn't hear you coming. Oh, I see,” he stammered, "you came on Flannel-feet— that's it, ha-ha! What's up down the way?"

"Nuthin'," replied Barger, transfixing his companion's flushed face, "but you appear to be down up the way. Come, get up, Red. Shake yourself. It's one-thirty now, and that train leaves Morgan at three. Tinker left an hour ago with her boxes. The boys are all going down in a bunch to say good-bye. We petitioned the old man for the afternoon, and, nice as you please, he says 'Yes,' and 'I don't blame you, boys.' Old-lady, she smiled over his shoulders, first one, then the other: 'Awfully sweet girl, Mr. Barger.' she says; 'we just hate to see her go.' Then

Old-man chimes in with, 'But do you-all need the whole afternoon?' "Tut, tut, Davy Bully for Old-lady, Solemn-face, hey?"

Reddy smiled. "Have you seen her this morning? She didn't speak-say anything, I mean? She-who's driving her down?"

"McGill's driving her down," replied Barger, sharply. "She asked for you, but how was I to know where you were buried? Didn't even know whether you'd come to say good-bye. It's your own fault. Didn't I tell you I'd give you the chance-six miles through Angel Gap alone with her, and Sissy an' Trissy needin' no attention. I'm blamed tired of you, Reddy."

Blake Barger was boss of "Three-Bar" horse, a boss that never lorded. Four summers at "Three-Bar," as many market trips in season, eighty miles with bellowing hordes and thirsty riders, and never a stampede or a rebel.

"It was mighty good of you, old boy," murmured Reddy, averting his face for a moment: "but I-I don't believe I could have spoken. I-we haven't time to get down to Three-Bar,' now, have we?"

"No," returned Barger, dwelling on the monosyllable and watching his companion's quivering lip. Then he added Kindly, "Oh, you needn't worry about McGill in Angel Gap. I ordered Shorty in along with them. You said McGill was a gentleman. He's down for three fines, sickbenefits, one; school books, one; and one for the Backers' Association."

"The what-that's a new one on me," laughed Reddy.

Barger muttered something and caught up his reins. Reddy heard the words. "maybe," "afternoon," and "you'll know." "What's that you say, Barg?" he asked. "I said," drawled Barger, "that time an' trains wait for no man. If you want to press Bertie Water's hand just a little bit, follow Flannel-feet. If not, plant you face in your hat and mope. Gidap,

there!"

Away went Flannel-feet. The red dust rose high and hung like a fog behind her. Clickety-clop, clickety-clop, clickety-clop! It was just the kind of invitation that Reddy needed. Ten minutes more and Beecher's pink nose sneezed in that fog. Galloping like the wind, he was soon neck and neck with the leader.

"Just-keep-this pace," panted Barg

er, "and maybe-you'll be able-to whisper good-bye. Aw, haul in-Reddy. I've got stitches."

Reddy grinned. His heels slackened. pressure on Beecher's softness, and the dust fog cleared as if by magic. Good old Beecher!

"That's liker it," pursued Barger.

Beecher and Flannel were blowing like porpoises. "We're only going to Morgan Junction. Where the dickens did you suppose we were bound for?"

"You said follow Flannel-feet," replied Reddy, and by way of justification, "I didn't have any dinner."

"Any fool could bank on that," growled Barger. "It's in the oven for you when you get home. Don't forget it."

"I won't. I'm likely to have an appetite." flashed Reddy.

Then Barger made numerous attempts to extract confidences, but Reddy's face remained like the bronze of Napoleon in captivity.

"Poor beggar," soliloquized Barger. "Poor little girl. Mighty good job she's got it, too. If she didn't, Red might as well apply to the Hush ward at the asylum. Poor beggar! Poor beggar! And she's not so awful strikin', either; her nose is just a little bit upiky. Oh, is it, old Sour Grapes?" he argued reflectively. "Bertie made you feel like the day Katie Marsden offered. to be a sister to you, when she told you it was Reddy for evermore." He glanced vindictively at his glum companion tapping his quirt on Beecher's neck.

"Can't you speak to her?" he muttered. "Speak, and she'll stay with us. You've got cattle, and land, and the log house clear. You've saved ridin' money for fifteen years. Speak to her. No? Then, by Jose! we'll squeeze it out of you."

At Morgan Junction when Reddy and Barger came through the gates, twelve stalwart "Three-Bar" riders were drawn up in imposing array. Clinking bits and spurs sounded as music in their ears. To the surfeited mountaineer, even, the sight was striking. A group of city visitors snapped kodaks freely. Lost Chord, the sleepy little agent, strutted proudly up and down the track: "Fine subject, sir; fine subject." "You bet yuh!" In horseflesh there were roan, buckskin, sorrel, grey, blue, black, and white, even the piebald was in evidence. Every saddle had the

big maker's stamp. Apache blankets lay sweat-damp underneath. Every horn hooked its lasso rope. Every sombrero sported the snakeskin band, every neck the red and yellow.

In spite of himself, Reddy laughed. "Barg," he whispered, "what you givin' her? Does she shake all around?"

"Sure," said Barger absently.

"Where are the boxes?" queried Reddy, sweeping the low granite platform at a glance.

"Don't see 'em," snapped Barger. "Where's Tinker?" persisted Reddy. "Don't see 'im," mumbled Barger. Suddenly a ringing cheer went up; a shiny buckboard with vermillion runninggear dashed past the line, and every hat was raised. Shorty and McGill, in the rig, raised also in graceful acknowledgment. Their sunburned little passenger bowed and smiled and blushed. She felt like a princess departing with the freedom of a city in her handbag. Immediately her eyes scanned the line and traveled swiftly to the gate, with an invitation to MacArthur.

"Barg," Reddy turned his yellow face to the boss. His heart was chunking like an engine crank. His lips quivered. "I guess maybe I'll go over and talk to her a little, eh?"

Barger expectorated contemptuously. "You guess," he sneered; and Reddy wavered.

But McGill had timed his arrival well. A distant murmur grew to a nearer hum. Louder and louder it droned. The bright steel rails began to sing. A whistle tooted loud and twice, and through an avenue of redolent pines the brass-trimmed Rio Grande swept up.

Unused to it, Beecher disliked the loud breathing of the monster, the sharp hissing of the exhaust, and straightway rose on his hind legs. Over his soft, sweaty neck, Reddy saw "Three-Bar" boys getting in swift good-byes and hearty handshakes. Everybody bustled; Morgan's altitude lethargy was transformed in a moment. The platform cleared rapidly. Lost Chord flung the mail pouch up to the messenger.

"Damn you, you fool!" Reddy set his teeth and drove his spurs home. "Oh, Bertie," he breathed; "Bertie!"

The conductor raised his hand: aboard!"

"All

A quick succession of snorts resounded, and Beecher increased his waltz-pace. A little white handkerchief fluttered from a window well forward. "Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!" In the loud burst of cheers, punctured by a rattle of shots, the back of the last car shriveled.

"Gone!" gasped Reddy, still bouncing in his saddle. "Gone!" And long before Beecher consented to stand at ease the little depot was deserted. Only McGill and Barger remained.

"You timed it bully, Jim," lauded the boss.

In token of appreciation McGill bit the end from his cigar and offered another to his companion. "Didn't have to use the boys much, after all, Barg, eh? Kind of suspicious if we'd had to push the whole bunch in ahead of Red. Gad, I felt reasonable sure Beecher'd go off full cock. That's why I took Reddy's old gun-sure down to the smith this mornin'. course Lawton was too busy to touch 'im till evenin'. Bet Red's boilin'."

Of

"Bet we've got 'im good an' hungry," remarked Barger. "Bet he'll propose to her the moment he sees her-just as I told you-all. Wait!"

"Well," returned McGill, "we're willin', but it's your game now, an' you've got t' start him over to Sheep's Junction mighty soon."

"He-kinder noticed the absence of her boxes," confided Barger. "He-he asked for Tinker."

"Tackle 'im quick," breathed McGill. "I'll telephone Tink to start home with her the moment she arrives at Sheep's."

"Right," agreed Barger, heading for Reddy. "I'll fix the laggard."

"Hello, there, Reddy," he bantered, slouching up under a danger-signal gaze, "you seem's if you were glued to that there saddle. Why didn't you come down. to say good-bye?"

Reddy's big eyes traveled swiftly over Beecher's neck to the tips of his fly-troubled ears. "This damn fool," he explained. "Oh, I'm miserable, Bar. Don't talk to me. I'm goin' home."

"Home," echoed Barger sharply, and Reddy looked straight at him. "After a while, maybe," conceded the boss authoritatively, "but right now you're goin' to Sheep's Junction to arrange about Pington's stock. We've got to cinch the bargain today."

"Cinched it yesterday," announced Reddy briefly.

"C-cinched it yesterday?" stammered Barger, his only valid excuse for an order gone. And Reddy must go over the Sheep's road. "Cinched it yesterday," he repeated, thinking quickly. Mighty awkward, that! But inventive genius sawed hard, and the horns dropped from his dilemma. He smiled sweetly. "No matter, Reddy, you've got to go to Pington's this afternoon, anyway. Supplies, you know. I'll write you a list."

"Telephone," suggested Reddy. "Telephone!" drawled Barger. Pington deliver stuff by wire ?"

"Can

"Oh! I'll need the wagon, then," grumbled Reddy.

"Go on, Beecher," directed Barger. "Tinker left Molly and B. No. 2 at Sheep's two days ago." ("That's no lie, either," he notated mentally.) "He's got her there now. Hitch Beecher on behind coming home. Get back early, Red. There's the list."

"All right," growled Reddy. "Gidap!" Whack, whack! And Barger watched him. dash through the gates, watched him on the long, winding stretch of grey till his eyes watered on a bobbing speck.

"Ho, Barger!" McGill signalled from the office door.

"Hurrah!" Barger's hat went into the air, landing snugly on his head as he glanced at his watch. "Red should meet 'em in an hour, then, Jim."

"Come in, come in and wait," invited McGill. "Lost Chord's napping in the baggage room. Hear 'im?"

"If I listen," Barger yawned wearily, "I'll fall over m'self."

McGill struck a match and tipped the boss' cigar.

Puff, puff. "Thanks, Jim." Barger's voice vied with his hand in vibrations. "Red should meet 'em in an hour, eh?" he mumbled again.

Up on the dirty white wall the old office clock ticked monotonously. On the garden plot bees swarmed on the hollyhocks. A continual hum attuned the air. A blue-bottle captaining a troupe of flies buzzed on the window pane. Beyond the

foreground of waving alfalfa Lake Morgan looked like a patch of fallen sky. Overhead the telegraph wires glittered in. a mirage of sunlight. Tick-tock, tickfock, tick-tock. Buzz-z-z-z! Barger's chin went down on his chest; a heavy white ash disintegrated on his knees. Tick-tock, tick-tock. An hour of it. Bhirr-r-r-r! Only the telephone saved McGill, and he jumped to his feet with a start.

"Hello, there! Tinker? Yes-yesuh-huh-yes-good boy, ha-ha-ha! Yes, wait a bit."

"Barg, wake up! This is Tinker at Halfway!"

"Huh?" The boss' eyes opened slowly, blinking vacantly across the desk. The hands of the clock marked four on the dial. McGill was holding the 'phone, his face a story with a pleasant ending. "Jim," breathed Barger, "you've got Tinker?”

McGill smiled. "You win, Boss. Tinker's at Halfway on Beecher. Reddy's driving B. No. 2, with one hand, the other holds Miss Waters'. They're headed back for Sheep's Junction."

"Sheep's Junction? Heavens ! What for?" cried Barger, rising.

McGill turned to the instrument again. "Hello, Tink! Yes, well, what's Reddy headed Sheep's way for? The boys are waiting for him at Flat-Rock. The denouement meeting, you know. What's that?" He wheeled swiftly on Barger. "After some confounded supplies for you."

Barger swore and grabbed the receiver. "Hello, that you, Tinker? Yes-yeswell, head Reddy back, d'you hear? We don't need supplies-got 'em yesterday. Had to give 'im that gag to start 'im. Smooth it without peachin'. Get 'em abreast of Flat-Rock by five. Yes-yesall right. Click! Ting, ting, ting. "Tink's a brick of a boy, Jim," he muttered, wiping his damp forehead. "Gad, I forgot all about these tarnation supplies."