"you've just about
passed the probation time, young feller. If I know the signs, the boss
is gittin' ready to raise yuh."

He looked at Bud rather sharply. Instantly the training of Buddy rose
within Bud. His memory flashed back unerringly to the day when he had
watched that Indian gallop toward the river, and had sneered because the
Indian evidently expected him to follow into the undergrowth.

Dirk Tracy did not in the least resemble an Indian, nor did his rambling
flattery bear any likeness to a fleeing enemy; yet it was plain enough
that he was trying in a bungling way to force Bud's confidence, and for
that reason Bud stared straight ahead and said nothing.

He did not remember having sung that particular ditty during his first
evening at the Muleshoe, nor of staring at the boss while he sung. He
might have done both, he reflected; he had sung one song after another
for about four hours that night, and unless he sang with his eyes shut
he would have to look somewhere. That it should be taken by the
whole outfit as a broad hint to ask no questions seemed to him rather
farfetched.

Nor did he see why Dirk should compliment him on keeping his mouth
shut, or call him smooth. He did not know that he had been on probation,
except perhaps as that applied to his ability as a cow-hand. And he
could see no valid reason why the boss should contemplate "raising" him.
So far, he had been doing no more than the rest of the boys, except
when there was roping to be done and he and Stopper were called upon
to distinguish themselves by fast rope-work, with never a miss. Sixty
dollars a month was as good pay as he had any right to expect.

Dirk, he decided, had given him one good tip which he would follow at
once. Dirk had said that no man ever got into trouble by keeping his
mouth shut. Bud closed his for a good half hour, and when he opened it
again he undid all the good he had accomplished by his silence.

"Where does that trail go, that climbs up over the mountains back of
that peak?" he asked. "Seems to be a stock trail. Have you got grazing
land beyond the mountains?"

Dirk took time to pry off a fresh chew of tobacco before he replied.
"You mean Thunder Pass? That there crosses over into the Black Rim
country. Yeah--There's a big wide range country over there, but we don't
run any stock on it. Burroback Valley's big enough for the Muleshoe."

Bud rolled a cigarette. "I didn't mean that main trail; that's a wagon
road,