l which she gave to Bartley. He sniffed at it.

"Cold chicken sandwiches!" he said, smiling broadly.

"And some doughnuts. It will save you boys fussing with a lunch."

Long Lon Pelly was also up and ready to start. The air was still cool
and the horses were a bit snuffy. Lon mounted and rode toward the west
gate where he waited for Cheyenne and Bartley.

"Now don't forget where you live," said the Senator as Bartley mounted.

With a cheery farewell to their hosts, Cheyenne and Bartley rode away.
The first warmth of the sun touched them as they headed into the western
spaces. Long Lon closed the big gate, stepped up on his horse, and
jogged along beside them.

Bartley felt as though he had suddenly left the world of reality and was
riding in a sort of morning dream. He could feel the pleasant warmth of
the sun on his back. He sniffed the thin dust cast up by the horses. On
either side of him the big mesa spread to the sky-line. Cattle were
scattered in the brush, some of them lying down, some of them grazing
indolently.

Presently Cheyenne began to sing, and his singing seemed to fit into the
mood of the morning. He ceased, and nothing but the faint jingle of rein
chains and the steady plod of hoofs disturbed the vast silence. A
flicker of smoke drifted back as Cheyenne lighted a cigarette. Long Lon
drilled on, wrapped in his reflections. Their moving shadows shortened.
Occasionally a staring-eyed cow strayed directly in their way and stood
until Long Lon struck his chaps with his quirt, when the cow, swinging
its head, would whirl and bounce off to one side, stiff-legged and
ridiculous.

Bartley unbuttoned his shirt-collar and pushed back his hat. Far across
the mesa a dust devil spun up and writhed away toward the distant hills.
As the horses slowed to cross a sandy draw, Bartley turned and glanced
back. The ranch buildings--a dot of white in a clump of green--shimmered
vaguely in the morning sunlight.

Thus far, Bartley felt that he had been leaving the ranch and the
cheerful companionship of the Senator and his wife. But as Lon Pelly
reined up--it was something like two hours since they had started--and
pointed to a cross-trail leading south, Bartley's mental attitude
changed instantly. Hitherto he had been leaving a pleasant habitation.
Now he was going somewhere. He felt the distinction keenly. Cheyenne's
verse came back to him.

Seems like I don't git anywhere,
Git along, cayuse, git along;