us."

5

"Jim stayed to milk the cows," Landy explained as he rode up to
Pinnacle Point the next morning leading Frosty, a rangy bay with a
diminutive new saddle on his back. "Alice don't like my milkin'
methods. I jist turn the calves in with the cows and let nature take
her course, so she lets Jim do the milkin'. Put on yer jacket, son,
hit's crimpy around the edges, and let's git goin'."

Seated on Ole Gravy, a sturdy gray horse, Landy Spencer was like a
picture page out of the book of the old west. His stubby, gray
mustache, standing out under an aquiline nose and squinting eyes,
failed to conceal a mouth much given to smiles and laughter. He had
cautioned the little man that it was cool, yet his blue shirt was open
at the neck. He wore a slouch hat, dented and battered to
unconventional shape, a dingy knitted waistcoat, unbuttoned of course,
gray jeans, tucked into high boots with long, pointed heels, and spurs
of ancient pattern. Hung to the horn of his old, but generous saddle
was a lariat.

The chuck-chuck-chuck of the gas engine told that Welborn was already
on the job at the mine. Davy ran into the house and returned wearing
his mackinaw and boots. "My, he's a giraffe," he said, as he looked
over Frosty and his equipment.

Landy dismounted and lifted Davy to his saddle. "Did ye ever ride a
hoss, son?"

"Sure, I've ridden some of the big fat ring-horses, but I either had
to lie down or stand up, they were too big around for my legs. Once I
was to ride a shetland in the Grand Entry, but they had a monkey on
another pony and I walked out on 'em." Davy picked up the reins and
Frosty began tiptoeing around and arching his back.

"Jist turn him loose, son," called Landy. "The old simpleton was
expectin' some weight when ye got on, and he's disapp'inted."

Landy led the way down the hill and Frosty followed like a pack horse.
The sun had pushed above the clouds. Frost was flying in the air. It
jeweled the grass of the table land and sparkled amid the green of the
conifers along Ripple Creek. Farther down the indistinct path they met
Jim in the car.

"Are you fellers goin' to git back in time for dinner," he called to
the horsemen.

"Mebbe not," replied Landy. "We are aimin' to bring back that little
hoss, en he may not want to come."

Landy turned from the path and rode down a coulee that led to Brushy
Fork. It was a winding way through brush and stunted hemlocks.
Presently they came to the c