"But you don't know," she said, smiling at the old man's extravagant
recommendation of his hero.

"I don' know, but I bet he is," said he. "Look at 'em!" he chuckled;
"look at old Nick Ha'gus and his onery, low-down Injun-blood boy!"

CHAPTER X

GUESTS OF THE BOSS LADY

Vesta rode out to meet them as they were coming back, to make sure of
her thanks. She was radiant with gratitude, and at no loss any longer
for words to express it. Before they had ridden together on the return
journey half a mile, Taterleg felt that he had known her all her life,
and was ready to cast his fortunes with her, win or lose.

Lambert was leaving the conversation between her and Taterleg, for the
greater part. He rode in gloomy isolation, like a man with something on
his mind, speaking only when spoken to, and then as shortly as
politeness would permit. Taterleg, who had words enough for a book,
appeared to feel the responsibility of holding them up to the level of
gentlemen and citizens of the world. Not if talk could prevent it would
Taterleg allow them to be classed as a pair of boors who could not go
beyond the ordinary cow-puncher's range in word and thought.

"It'll be some time, ma'am, before that feller Hargus and his boy'll try
to make a short cut to Glendora through your ranch ag'in," said he.

"It was the first time they were ever caught, after old man Hargus had
been cutting our fence for years, Mr. Wilson. I can't tell you how much
I owe you for humiliating them where they thought the humiliation would
be on my side."

"Don't you mention it, ma'am; it's the greatest pleasure in the world."

"He thought he'd come by the house and look in the window and defy me
because I was alone."

"He's got a mean eye; he's got a eye like a wolf."

"He's got a wolf's habits, too, in more ways than one, Mr. Wilson."

"Yes, that man'd steal calves, all right."

"We've never been able to prove it on him, Mr. Wilson, but you've put
your finger on Mr. Hargus' weakness like a phrenologist."

Taterleg felt his oats at this compliment. He sat up like a major, his
chest out, his mustache as big on his thin face as a Mameluke's. It
always made Lambert think of the handlebars on that long-horn safety
bicycle that he came riding into the Bad Lands.

"The worst part of it is, Mr. Wilson, that he's not the only one."

"Neighbors livin' off of you, are they? Yes, that's the way it was down
in Texas when the big ranches begun to fence,