arth is wide
And it's only you
And the mountainside!"

"Twenty miles between shacks," he considered approvingly. "And never a
line fence to cut your way through. It's near paradise, this land,
wherever it isn't just fair hell. No half way business; no maudlin
make-believe." But all of a sudden his face darkened. "Poor little
kid," he said. "If Bruce could only loan me half a dozen ready-mixed,
rough and ready, border cowboys; Californians, Arizonans and Texans!"

His hopes of this were not large at any time; when he came upon the
first of Bruce West's riders they vanished entirely. An Indian, or
half breed at the best, ragged as to black stringy hair, hard visaged,
stony eyed. Kendric called to him and the rider turned in his saddle
and waited. And for answer to the question: "Where's the Old Man?
Bruce West?" the answer was a hand lifted lazily to point up valley and
silence.

"_Gracias, amigo_," laughed Kendric and rode on.

There was not a more amazed man in all Lower California when Jim
Kendric rode up to him. Bruce West was out with two of his men driving
a herd of young, wild-looking horses down toward the corrals beyond the
house. For an instant his blue eyes stared incredulously; then they
filled with shining joy. He swept off his broad hat to wave it wildly
about his head; he came swooping down on Kendric as though he had a
suspicion that his visitor had it in his head to whirl and make a bolt
for the mountains; he whooped gleefully.

"Old Jim Kendric!" he shouted. "Old Headlong Jim! Old r'arin',
tearin', ramblin', rovin', hell-for-leather Kendric! Oh, mama! Man,
I'm glad to see you!"

Only a youngster, was Bruce West, but manly for all that, who wore his
heart on his sleeve, his honesty in his eyes and who would rather
frolic than fight but would rather fight than do nothing. When last
Kendric had seen him, Bruce was nursing his first mustache and glorying
in the triumphant fact that soon he would be old enough to vote; now,
barely past twenty-three, he looked a trifle thinner than his former
hundred and ninety pounds but never a second older. He was a boy with
blue eyes and yellow hair and a profound adoration for all that Jim
Kendric stood for in his eager eyes.

"Why all the war paint, Baby Blue-eyes?" Kendric asked as they shook
hands. For under Bruce's knee was strapped a rifle and a big army
revolver rode at his saddle horn.

Bruce laughed, his mood having no place f