that would bring us to the lowlands of the
Arrowhead, where the dust no longer choked and one could see green and
smell water. From the last mesa we looked out over the Arrowhead's flat
fields, six thousand acres under fence, with the ranch house and
outbuildings hazy in the distance.

It was a pleasant prospect and warmed Ma Pettengill from her mood of
chill negation. She remarked upon the goodliness of the scene, quite as
if the present were not a technical year for cattle raisers. Then, as
we jogged the six miles home by peaceful thoroughfares, the lady, being
questioned persistently and suitably, spoke with utter freedom of Homer
Gale, who had shamefully deserted his job for two days at the busiest
end of the season, when a white man wouldn't of thought of leaving, even
on a matter of life and death.

Had Homer the shadow of an excuse? We shall see.

Well, then, this here celluloid imitation of a cowman that I been using
violent words about come into the valley three years ago and rapidly got
a lot of fame by reason of being a confirmed bachelor and hating the
young of the human species with bitterness and constancy. I was the one
that brought him in; I admit that. First time I seen him he was being a
roistering blade in the Fashion Waffle Kitchen down at Red Gap. He was
with Sandy Sawtelle and a couple other boys from the ranch here, and
Sandy tells me later that he is looking for work, being a good cowhand.
I said he looked like something else, being dressed in an uproarious
check suit of clothes that would instantly of collected a crowd in most
city streets. But Sandy says that's all right; he's a regler cowman and
had to wear these startling garments for a disguise to get him safe out
of Idaho.

It seems he'd been crowded out of that thriving state by a yearning
and determined milliner that had witnesses a-plenty and intended to
do something about it. Defendant claimed he hadn't even meant anything
of the sort and was just being a good pal; but it looked like the cruel
teeth of the law was going to bite right into his savings if this
breach-of-promise suit ever come to trial, the lady having letters from
him in black and white. So Homer had made a strategic retreat, avoiding
contact with the enemy, and here he was. And how about taking him on at
the Arrowhead, where he could begin a new life?

Needing another hand just then, I fussed none at all about Homer's
scandalous past. I said he could throw in with u