but felt a swelling in the throat. That tribute from
the hill bill meant more than the verdict of a court.

"The only trouble is," Noah was speaking a little uneasily himself,
"Reedy Jenkins is a skunk and he's got some pizen rats gnawing for him.
There ain't nothin' they won't do--except what they are afraid to.
Bob's got 'em so they don't tie their goats around his shack any more.
But they are going to do him dirt, sure as a tadpole makes a toad.

"Reedy Jenkins has got hold of a lot of money somewhere again; and he's
set out to bush Bob, and get away with the pile. I don't know just how
he's aimin' to do it; but Reedy don't never have any regrets over what
happens to the other fellow if it makes money for him."

The hill billy's words made Imogene more uneasy than before. And yet
looking at the lank, droll fellow sitting there in the starlight, she
again smiled, and sighed.

"Well, I'm mighty glad Mr. Rogeen has you for a friend," she said aloud.

"A friend," observed Noah, "is sorter like a gun--expensive in town but
comfortin' in the country.

"But really I ain't no good, Miss Chandler. As I used to say to my
dad, 'if the Lord made me, he must have done it sort of absent
mindedly, for he ain't never found no place for me.'"

Imogene arose. She knew this big-hearted, rough hill billy must be
tired. She went over and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder and
said with a solemn tightening of the throat--"Noah, you are the salt of
the earth--and I'd rather have you for a friend than a diamond king."

Noah arose, emotion always made him uncomfortable, and shuffled off to
his tent without a word.

But he turned at the entrance to the tent, and looked back. The girl
sat quite still, her face turned up toward the stars.

"Well," said Noah to himself, "she's got me all right."

On the fourteenth of June Bob Rogeen and Noah Ezekiel Foster rode
through the Red Butte Ranch.

The fields lay before them checkered off into squares by the irrigation
ditches, level as a table. The long rows of cotton were five to ten
inches high, and of a dark green colour. The stand on most of the
fields was almost perfect. One Chinaman with a span of mules
cultivated fifty acres.

"Lou Wing is a great farmer," continued Bob, enthusiastically. "He is
doing the work for 45 per cent. of the crop. I pay the water and the
rent; and of course I have to advance him the money to feed and pay his
hands. He has twenty partners