last it did.

Whitey must have shown signs of wear, for as they parted to go to bed,
Dan Brayton said to him, "Cheer up, it may rain to-morrow," and it did!

Now, if there was anything more depressing than the T Up and Down when
the weather was fine, it was that same ranch when it rained. How Whitey
got through that awful day he never really knew. The most cheerful thing
that happened was during dinner, when Dan Brayton told a long yarn about
a brother of his, who had small-pox and fleas at one and the same time,
and, as Dan said, "was more t' be pitied than scorned." And this might
have been a joke, though no one laughed. But at last evening came with
another programme of dirges, then night with its blessed sleep.

CHAPTER XII

FELIX THE FAITHLESS

To Whitey's intense relief the following morning was clear, and he
realized, with delight, that at last he would be able to get away from
the T Up and Down. He had never been so tired of a place in his life. It
was almost worse than school.

After breakfast Dan Brayton took Whitey into his office, and while
Whitey sat on a saddle, Dan slouched in his saggy chair and talked
business.

"I'm sure glad you bin able t' stay a coupl'a days," he said. "It musta
bin a pleasant change for you, an' it's give me a chanst t' think over
this here important business o' your father's. I've writ a letter for
you t' deliver, t' my friend Walt Lampson, o' the Star Circle, down
so'east o' here a piece, for you t' take t' him. Y' see, we can't fill
all your dad's r'quir'munts, so I'm callin' on Walt t' sort o' help out
with th' balance."

Dan looked impressively at Whitey, who didn't understand much of what
he was talking about, and didn't care about anything he was to do, he
was so glad to get away from the T Up and Down.

"This'll take you out of your way a bit," Dan went on, "but you won't
have t' cross th' Zumbro, an' I'll send back that hoss you borrowed from
Cal Smith, by one o' the hands. An' I'll lend you one o' my nags t' take
you as far as Willer Bend, where you c'n get another mount. Little
Thompson'll go that far with you, an' from there on th' goin's
straight."

So, on the borrowed horse, and with the letter sewed inside his shirt,
Whitey set forth with Little Thompson, the tall, thin, solemn cowboy who
had sung the dismal songs. And glad as he was to leave, Whitey regretted
that he did not have a more cheerful companion. For Little's idea of
entertainment was