nner. "Where'd you learn how?"

Stratton smiled. "Overseas. I was in the Transportation, and we had to
know a little of everything, including first aid."

"Hum," grunted the doctor. "Well, the kid's doing all right. I won't have
to come over again unless fever develops."

As they walked back to the hitching-rack, he gave Buck a few directions
about the care of the invalid. There followed a slight pause.

"You're new here," commented the doctor, untying his bridle-reins.

"Just came yesterday," answered Stratton.

"Friend of Lynch?"

Buck's lips twitched. "Not exactly," he shrugged. "Miss Thorne hired me
while he was in Paloma. I got a notion he was rather peevish about it.
Reckon he prefers to pick his own hands."

As the doctor swung into the saddle, his face momentarily lightened.

"Don't let that worry you," he said, a faint little twinkle in his eyes.
"It isn't good for anybody to have their own way all the time. Well, you
know what to do about Bemis. If he shows any signs of fever, get hold of
me right away."

With a wave of his hand he rode off. Stratton's glance followed him
curiously. Had he really been pleased to find that the new hand was not a
friend of Tex Lynch, or was the idea merely a product of Buck's
imagination?

Still pondering, he turned abruptly to find Pedro regarding him intently
from the kitchen door. As their glances met, the Mexican's lids drooped
and his face smoothed swiftly into its usual indolent indifference; but he
was not quite quick enough to hide entirely that first look of searching
speculation mingled with not a little venom.

Stratton's own expression was the perfection of studied self-control. He
half smiled, and yawned in a realistically bored manner.

"You sure you don't know where the bunch went?" he asked. "I'm getting
dead sick of hanging around doing nothing."

"They don' say," shrugged the Mexican. "I wash dishes an' don' see 'em go.
Mebbe back soon."

"Not if they're moving a herd--I don't think!" retorted Buck. "Guess I'll
ask Miss Thorne," he added, struck by a sudden inspiration.

Without waiting for a reply, he walked briskly along the front of the
house toward the further entrance. As he turned the corner he met the
girl, booted, spurred, her face shaded becomingly by a wide-brimmed
Stetson.

"I was just going to find you," she said. "Rick wants to see you a
minute."

Stratton followed her into the living-room, where she paused and glanced
back a