en Shoes"
out with the wagons on the horse round-up, which is a preliminary to the
roundup proper, as every one knows.

CHAPTER 6. A Shot From the Dark.

"I call that a bad job well done," Pink remarked, after a long silence,
as he gave over trying to catch a fish in the muddy Milk River.

"What?" Rowdy, still prone to day-dreams of matters domestic, came back
reluctantly to reality, and inspected his bait.

"Oh, come alive! I mean the horse round-up. How we're going to keep that
bunch uh skeletons under us all summer is a guessing contest for fair.
Wooden Shoes has got t' give me about forty, instead of a dozen, if
he wants me t' hit 'er up on circle the way I'm used to. I bet their
back-bones'll wear clean up through our saddles."

"Oh, I guess not," said Rowdy calmly. "They ain't so thin--and they'll
pick up flesh. There's some mighty good ones in the bunch, too. I hope
Wooden Shoes don't forget to give me the first pick. There's one I got
my eye on--that blue roan. Anyway, I guess you can wiggle along with
less than forty."

Pink shook his head thoughtfully and sighed. Pink loved good mounts, and
the outlook did not please him. The round-up had camped, for the last
time, on the river within easy riding distance of Camas. The next day's
drive would bring them to the home ranch, where Eagle Creek was fuming
over the lateness of the season, the condition of the range, and the
June rains, which had thus far failed even to moisten decently the
grass-roots.

"Let's ride over to Camas; all the other fellows have gone," Pink
proposed listlessly, drawing in his line.

Rowdy as listlessly consented. Camas as a town was neither interesting
nor important; but when one has spent three long weeks communing with
nature in her sulkiest and most unamiable mood, even a town without a
railroad to its name may serve to relieve the monotony of living.

The sun was piling gorgeous masses of purple and crimson clouds high
about him, cuddling his fat cheeks against their soft folds till, a
Midas, he turned them to gold at the touch. Those farther away
gloomed jealously at the favoritism of their lord, and huddled closer
together--the purple for rage, perhaps; and the crimson for shame!

Pink's face was tinged daintily with the glow, and even Rowdy's lean,
brown features were for the moment glorified. They rode knee to knee
silently, thinking each his own thoughts the while they watched the
sunset with eyes grown familiar wi