n-side stood a dozen or
more burros, wearing that air of patient resignation common to very good
women and very obstinate beasts. Old Mosey himself was pottering about
the corral, feeding his stock. He stooped now and then with the
unwillingness of years, and erected himself by slow, rheumatic stages.
The donkeys crowded about the fence as he approached with a forkful of
alfalfa hay, and he pushed them about with the flat of the prongs,
calling them by queer, inappropriate names.

A young man in blue overalls came around the corner of the house,
swinging a newly trimmed manzanita stick.

"Hello, Mosey!" he called. "Here I am again, as hungry as a coyote.
What's the lay-out? Cottontail on toast and patty de foy grass?"

The old man grinned, showing his worn, yellow teeth.

"I'll be there in a minute," he said. "Just set down on the step."

The young fellow came toward the corral.

"I've got a job on the trail," he said. "I'm going down-town for my
traps. Who named 'em for you?" he questioned, as the old man swore
softly at the Democratic candidate for President.

"Oh, the women, mostly. They take a lot of interest in 'em when they
start out; they're afraid I ain't good to them. They don't say so much
about it when they get back."

"They're too tired, I suppose."

"Yes, I s'pose so."

"You let out five this morning, didn't you? I met them on my way down.
The girl in bloomers seemed to be scared; she gave a little screech
every few minutes. The others didn't appear to mind."

"Oh, she wasn't afraid. Women don't make a noise when they're scared;
it's only when they want to scare somebody else."

The young fellow leaned against the fence and laughed, with a final
whoop. A gray donkey investigated his hip pocket, and he reached back
and prodded the intruder with his stick.

"You seem to be up on the woman question, Mosey. It's queer you ain't
married."

The old man was lifting a boulder to hold down a broken bale of hay, and
made no reply. His visitor started toward the cabin. The old man
adjusted another boulder and trotted after his guest, brushing the hay
from his flannel shirt. A column of blue-white smoke arose from the
rusty stovepipe in the cabin roof, and the smell of overdone coffee
drifted out upon the spiced air.

"I was just about settin' down," said the host, placing another plate
and cup and saucer on the blackened redwood table. "I'll fry you some
more bacon and eggs."

The visitor watched