easy-opinioned Shorty, exactly as if he had
always maintained this view. "Chap started for Sunk Creek three weeks
ago. Trapper he was; old like, with a red shirt. One of his horses come
into the round-up Toosday. Man ain't been heard from." He ate in silence
for a while, evidently brooding in his childlike mind. Then he said,
querulously, "I'd sooner trust one of them Indians than I would
Trampas."

Balaam slanted his fat bullet head far to one side, and laying his spoon
down (he had opened some canned grapes) laughed steadily at his guest
with a harsh relish of irony.

The guest ate a grape, and perceiving he was seen through, smiled back
rather miserably.

"Say, Shorty," said Balaam, his head still slanted over, "what's the
figures of your bank balance just now?"

"I ain't usin' banks," murmured the youth.

Balaam put some more grapes on Shorty's plate, and drawing a cigar from
his waistcoat, sent it rolling to his guest.

"Matches are behind you," he added. He gave a cigar to the Virginian as
an afterthought, but to his disgust, the Southerner put it in his pocket
and lighted a pipe.

Balaam accompanied his guest, Shorty, when he went to the pasture to
saddle up and depart. "Got a rope?" he asked the guest, as they lifted
down the bars.

"Don't need to rope him. I can walk right up to Pedro. You stay back."

Hiding his bridle behind him, Shorty walked to the river-bank, where the
pony was switching his long tail in the shade; and speaking persuasively
to him, he came nearer, till he laid his hand on Pedro's dusky mane,
which was many shades darker than his hide. He turned expectantly, and
his master came up to his expectations with a piece of bread.

"Eats that, does he?" said Balaam, over the bars.

"Likes the salt," said Shorty. "Now, n-n-ow, here! Yu' don't guess
yu'll be bridled, don't you? Open your teeth! Yu'd like to play yu' was
nobody's horse and live private? Or maybe yu'd prefer ownin' a saloon?"

Pedro evidently enjoyed this talk, and the dodging he made about the
bit. Once fairly in his mouth, he accepted the inevitable, and followed
Shorty to the bars. Then Shorty turned and extended his hand.

"Shake!" he said to his pony, who lifted his forefoot quietly and put it
in his master's hand. Then the master tickled his nose, and he wrinkled
it and flattened his ears, pretending to bite. His face wore an
expression of knowing relish over this performance. "Now the other
hoof," said Shorty; an