nd stared sourly at Pete Hamilton, who was
apathetically opening hatboxes for the inspection of an Indian in a red
blanket and frowsy braids.

"How much?" The braided one fingered indecisively the broad brim of a
gray sombrero.

"Nine dollars." Pete leaned heavily against the shelves behind him and
sighed with the weariness of mere living.

"Huh! All same buy one good hoss." The braided one dropped the hat,
hitched his blanket over his shoulder in stoical disregard of the heat,
and turned away.

Pete replaced the cover, seemed about to place the box upon the shelf
behind him, and then evidently decided that it was not worth the effort.
He sighed again.

"It is almighty hot," he mumbled languidly. "Want another drink, Good
Injun?"

"I do not. Hot toddy never did appeal to me, my friend. If you weren't
too lazy to give orders, Pete, you'd have cold beer for a day like this.
You'd give Saunders something to do beside lie in the shade and tell
what kind of a man he used to be before his lungs went to the bad. Put
him to work. Make him pack this stuff down cellar where it isn't two
hundred in the shade. Why don't you?"

"We was going to get ice t'day, but they didn't throw it off when the
train went through."

"That's comforting--to a man with a thirst like the great Sahara. Ice!
Pete, do you know what I'd like to do to a man that mentions ice after a
drink like that?"

Pete neither knew nor wanted to know, and he told Grant so. "If you're
going down to the ranch," he added, by way of changing the subject,
"there's some mail you might as well take along."

"Sure, I'm going--for a drink out of that spring, if nothing else.
You've lost a good customer to-day, Pete. I rode up here prepared to get
sinfully jagged--and here I've got to go on a still hunt for water with
a chill to it--or maybe buttermilk. Pete, do you know what I think of
you and your joint?"

"I told you I don't wanta know. Some folks ain't never satisfied. A
fellow that's rode thirty or forty miles to get here, on a day like
this, had oughta be glad to get anything that looks like beer."

"Is that so?" Grant walked purposefully down to the front of the store,
where Pete was fumbling behind the rampart of crude pigeonholes which
was the post-office. "Let me inform you, then, that--"

There was a swish of skirts upon the rough platform outside, and a young
woman entered with the manner of feeling perfectly at home there.
She was rather tall, rath