. In any event, he leaped
playfully against Sundown's chest and stood with his paws on the
tramp's shoulders. Sundown shrunk back against the corral bars. "Go
to it," he said, trying to cover his fear with a jest, "if you like
bones."

From behind him came a rush of feet. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Shoop.
"Come 'ere, Chance. I sure didn't know he was loose."

The dog dropped to his feet and wagged his tail inquiringly.

"Chance--there--he don't cotton to strangers," explained Shoop,
slipping his hand in the wolf-dog's collar. "Did he nip you?"

"Nope. But me and him ain't strangers, mister. You see, I knowed the
boss's brother Billy, what passed over in a wreck. He used to own
Chance, so the boss says."

"You knew Billy! But Chance don't know that. I'll chain him up till
he gets used to seein' you 'round."

Shoop led the dog to the stable. Sundown felt relieved. The
solicitude of the foreman, impersonal as it was, made him happier.

Next morning he was installed as cook. He did fairly well, and the men
rode away joking about the new "dough-puncher."

Then it was that Sundown had an inspiration--not to write verse, but to
manufacture pies. He knew that the great American appetite is keen for
pies. Finding plenty of material,--dried apples, dried prunes, and
apricots,--he set to work, having in mind former experiences on the
various "east-sides" of various cities. Determined that his reputation
should rest not alone upon flavor, he borrowed a huge Mexican spur from
his assistant and immersed it in a pan of boiling water. "And speakin'
of locality color," he murmured, grinning at the possibilities before
him, "how's that, Johnny?" And he rolled out a thin layer of pie-dough
and taking the spur for a "pattern-wheel," he indented a free-hand
sketch of the Concho brand on the immaculate dough. Next he wheeled
out a rather wobbly cayuse, then an equally wobbly and ferocious cow.
Each pie came from the oven with some symbol of the range printed upon
it, the general effect being enhanced by the upheaval of the piecrust
in the process of baking. When the punchers rode in that evening and
entered the messroom, they sniffed knowingly. But not until the
psychological moment did Sundown parade his pies. Then he stepped to
the kitchen and, with the lordly gesture of a Michael Angelo unveiling
a statue for the approval of Latin princes, commanded the assistant to
"Bring forth them pies." And they were "br