ld toward an indulgent
parent. When Raidler would leave the ranch McGuire would fall into a
fit of malevolent, silent sullenness. When he returned, he would be
met by a string of violent and stinging reproaches. Raidler's attitude
toward his charge was quite inexplicable in its way. The cattleman
seemed actually to assume and feel the character assigned to him by
McGuire's intemperate accusations--the character of tyrant and guilty
oppressor. He seemed to have adopted the responsibility of the
fellow's condition, and he always met his tirades with a pacific,
patient, and even remorseful kindness that never altered.

One day Raidler said to him, "Try more air, son. You can have the
buckboard and a driver every day if you'll go. Try a week or two in
one of the cow camps. I'll fix you up plumb comfortable. The ground,
and the air next to it--them's the things to cure you. I knowed a man
from Philadelphy, sicker than you are, got lost on the Guadalupe [45],
and slept on the bare grass in sheep camps for two weeks. Well, sir, it
started him getting well, which he done. Close to the ground--that's
where the medicine in the air stays. Try a little hossback riding now.
There's a gentle pony--"

[FOOTNOTE 45: The Guadalupe River arises in the Hill Country of
Central Texas northwest of San Antonio and flows
southeast to the Gulf of Mexico.]

"What've I done to yer?" screamed McGuire. "Did I ever doublecross
yer? Did I ask you to bring me here? Drive me out to your camps if you
wanter; or stick a knife in me and save trouble. Ride! I can't lift my
feet. I couldn't sidestep a jab from a five-year-old kid. That's what
your d----d ranch has done for me. There's nothing to eat, nothing to
see, and nobody to talk to but a lot of Reubens who don't know a
punching bag from a lobster salad."

"It's a lonesome place, for certain," apologised Raidler abashedly.
"We got plenty, but it's rough enough. Anything you think of you want,
the boys'll ride up and fetch it down for you."

It was Chad Murchison, a cow-puncher from the Circle Bar outfit,
who first suggested that McGuire's illness was fraudulent. Chad had
brought a basket of grapes for him thirty miles, and four out of his
way, tied to his saddle-horn. After remaining in the smoke-tainted
room for a while, he emerged and bluntly confided his suspicions to
Raidler.

"His arm," said Chad, "is harder'n a diamond. He interduced me to what
h