should be envied."

Phil was amazed at his companion's words, for they seemed to hint at
something in the man's past, and Patches, so far as his reticence upon
any subject that approached his own history, was always as silent as
Yavapai Joe himself.

"What do you mean by that?" Phil demanded. "What sort of men do you
mean?"

"I mean the sort that never do anything of their own free wills; the
sort that have someone else to think for them, and feed them, and take
care of them and take all the responsibility for what they do or do not
do. I mean those who are dependents, and those who aspire to be
dependent. I can't see that it makes any essential difference whether
they have inherited wealth and what we call culture, or whether they are
poverty-stricken semi-imbeciles like Joe; the principle is the same."

As they dismounted at the home corral gate, Phil looked at his companion
curiously. "You seem mighty interested in Joe," he said, with a smile.

"I am," retorted Patches. "He reminds me of--of some one I know," he
finished, with his old, self-mocking smile. "I have a fellow feeling
for him, the same as you have for that wild horse, you know. I'd like to
take him away from Nick, and see if it would be possible to make a real
man of him," he mused, more to himself than to his companion.

"I don't believe I'd try any experiments along that line, Patches,"
cautioned Phil. "You've got to have something to build on when you start
to make a man. The raw material is not in Joe, and, besides," he added
significantly, "folks might not understand."

Patches laughed bitterly. "I have my hands full now."

The next morning the foreman said that he would give that day to the
horses he was training, and sent Patches, alone, after the saddle and
bridle which they had left near the scene of the accident.

"You can't miss finding the place again," he said to Patches; "just
follow up the wash. You'll be back by noon--if you don't try any
experiments," he added laughing.

Patches had ridden as far as the spot where he and Phil had met the
Tailholt Mountain men, and was thirsty. He thought of the distance he
had yet to go, and then of the return back to the ranch, in the heat of
the day. He remembered that Phil had told him, as they were riding out
the morning before, of a spring a little way up the small side canyon
that opens into the main wash through that break in the ridge. For a
moment he hesitated; then he turned aside, de