t seem like a very convenient location," said Wallie,
querulously.

"You can cut out some toe-holts to-morrow," Pinkey suggested,
cheerfully. "The ground has got such a good slope to drain the corrals
is the reason I picked it to build on."

This explanation reconciled Wallie to the difficulty of getting water.
To build a fire and make the coffee was the work of a moment, but it
seemed twenty-four hours to Wallie, sitting on a saddle-blanket watching
every move like a hungry bird-dog. He thought he never had smelled
anything so savoury as the odour of potatoes and onions cooking, and
when the aroma of boiling coffee was added to it!

Pinkey stopped slicing ham to point at the sunset.

"Ain't that a great picture?"

"Gorgeous," Wallie agreed without looking.

"If I could paint."

"Does it take long to make gravy?" Wallie demanded, impatiently.

"Not so very. I'll git things goin' and let you watch 'em while I go and
take a look at them buzzard-heads. If a horse ain't used to bein' on
picket he's liable to go scratchin' his ear and git caught and choke
hisself."

"Couldn't we eat first?" Wallie asked, plaintively.

"No, I'll feel easier if I know they ain't tangled. Keep stirrin' the
gravy so it won't burn on you," he called back. "And set the coffee off
in a couple of minutes."

Wallie was on his knees absorbed in his task of keeping the gravy from
scorching when a sound made him turn quickly and look behind him.

A large man on a small white pony was riding toward him. He looked
unprepossessing even at a distance and he did not improve, as he came
closer. His nose was long, his jaw was long, his hair needed cutting and
was greasy, while his close-set blue eyes had a decidedly mean
expression. There was a rifle slung under his stirrup-leather, and a
six-shooter in its holster on his hip was a conspicuous feature of his
costume.

He sat for a moment, looking, then dropped the bridle reins as he
dismounted and sauntered up to the camp-fire.

Wallie was sure that it was "Boise Bill," from a description Pinkey had
given him, and his voice was slightly tremulous as he said:

"Good evening."

The stranger paid no attention to his greeting. He was surveying Wallie
in his riding breeches and puttees with an expression that was at once
amused and insolent.

"Looks like you aimed to camp a spell, from your lay-out," he observed,
finally.

"Yes, I am here permanently." Wallie wondered if the stranger could s