get
an antelope, didn't even see one. All they got were appetites; though
Whitey's appetite came without calling, as it were, and always excited
the admiration of Bill Jordan. After dinner that evening Whitey went to
the bunk house. Some of the cowpunchers were in from the range, and
Whitey loved to hear the yarns they would spin.

So he lay in a bunk and listened to a number of stories, and wondered
if they were all true--and it is a singular fact that some of them were.
But Whitey's day's hunt had been long, and his dinner had been big, and
his eyes began to droop.

Buck Higgins was in the midst of a tale about being thrown from his
cayuse and breaking his right arm. There was a wild stallion in this
story, which every puncher in seven states or so had tried to capture.
Now, Buck, with his right arm broken, naturally had to throw his rope
with his left, and his manner of doing that took some description. It
was during this that in Whitey's mind he, in a mysterious way, changed
to Buck, or rather Buck changed to Whitey, and the stallion changed to
an antelope, and pretty soon things began to get rather vague generally.

When Whitey awoke, the bunk house was almost dark. How long he had been
lying asleep he did not know. The light came from a candle, and
presently Whitey heard voices. Three men were seated near by, and Whitey
was about to get out of the bunk, when he recognized the voice of
String Beans, and something held him back. It was evident that the men
did not know that he was there.

Whitey felt something warm stir against him, and, startled, put out his
hand and encountered a hairy surface. It was Sitting Bull, who had
crawled into the bunk after Whitey had fallen asleep, and crowded in
between the boy and the wall. At the sound of String Beans' voice Whitey
felt the hair along Bull's neck rise. He remembered the dog's dislike
for the two men, and put his hand over Bull's mouth to keep him from
growling. Whitey was glad he did not snore. He might now have a chance
to learn whether the two were on the level or not.

For the moment Whitey had some qualms about listening, but he soon
dismissed them. If these men were open and aboveboard, why were they
whispering in the dimly lighted bunk house? Whitey had never been able
to overcome the first distrust he had felt for String Beans and Ham. He
also had a feeling that he ought to justify that distrust, that in a way
it was up to him. So he continued to eavesdr