t's crowdin' hospitality pretty strong. But if they
want grub or clothes or tabac, go to it--and see if you can't keep 'em
off the upper range."

He paused and gazed at Hardy with eyes which suggested a world of
advice and warning--then, leaving it all unsaid, he turned wearily
away.

"I look to find you with a sprained wrist," he drawled, "when I come
back--throwin' flapjacks for them sheepmen!" He made the quick motion
of turning a pancake in midair, smiled grimly, and galloped after the
long line of horses and packs that was stringing along up the Bronco
Mesa trail. And, having a premonition of coming company, Hardy went in
by the fireplace and put on a big kettle of beef. He was picking over
another mess of beans when he heard the clatter of hoofs outside and
the next moment the door was kicked violently open.

It was Jasper Swope who stood on the threshold, his high Texas hat
thrust far back upon his head--and if he felt any surprise at finding
the house occupied he gave no expression to it.

"Hello, there!" he exclaimed. "I thought you folks was all gone!"

"Nope," replied Hardy, and continued his work in silence.

"Cookin' for the outfit?" queried Swope, edging in at the door.

"Nope," replied Hardy.

"Well, who the hell air ye cookin' fer then?" demanded Swope, drawing
nearer. "'Scuse me if I pry into this matter, but I'm gittin'
interested." He paused and showed a jagged set of teeth beneath his
bristling red mustache, sneeringly.

"Well, I'll tell you," answered Hardy easily. "I thought some white
man might come along later and I'd ask him to dinner." He fixed his
eyes upon the sheepman with an instant's disapproval and then resumed
his cookery. As for Swope, his gray eyes flashed sudden fire from
beneath bushy eyebrows, and then a canny smile crept across his lips.

"I used to be a white man, myself," he said, "before I lost my soap.
What's the chance to git a bite of that bymeby?" He threw his hand out
toward the pot of beef, which was sending out odors of a rich broth,
flavored with onions and chili.

Hardy looked at him again, little shrimp of a man that he was, and
still with disapproval.

"D'ye call that a white man's way of entering another man's house?" he
inquired pointedly.

"Well," temporized Swope, and then he stopped. "A man in my line of
business gits in a hurry once in a while," he said lamely. "But I'm
hungry, all right," he remarked, _sotto voce_.

"Yes," said Hardy, "I've no