the table,
dumping the loose handful in a great pile before the weak glimmer of
the lamp.

"There," he said, as Creede blinked at the heap, "I reckon that's mail
enough for both of us. You can read the advertisements and I'll see
what the judge has to say for himself. Pitch in, now." He waved his
hand towards a lot of business envelopes, but Creede shook his head
and continued to smoke dreamily.

"Nope," he said briefly, "don't interest me."

He reached out and thumbed the letters over dumbly, spelling out a
long word here and there or scrutinizing some obscure handwriting
curiously, as if it were Chinese, or an Indian sign on a rock. Then,
shoving back his chair, he watched Hardy's face as he skimmed rapidly
through the first letter.

"Good news in the first part of it and bad in the last," he remarked,
as Hardy put it down.

"That's right," admitted Hardy, "but how'd you know?"

He gazed up at his complacent partner with a look of innocent wonder,
and Creede laughed.

"W'y, hell boy," he said, "I can read you like a book. Your face tells
the whole story as you go along. After you've been down here in
Arizona a few seasons and got them big eyes of yourn squinched down a
little--well, I may have to ast you a few questions, then."

He waved his hand in a large gesture and blew out a cloud of smoke,
while a twinkle of amusement crept into Hardy's unsquinched eyes.

"Maybe I'm smoother than I look," he suggested dryly. "You big, fat
fellows get so self-satisfied sometimes that you let lots of things go
by you."

"Well, I'll take my chances on you," answered Creede placidly. "What
did the old judge say?"

"He says you did fine with the cattle," said Hardy, "and sold 'em just
in time--the market fell off within a week after we shipped."

"Um-huh," grunted Creede. "And what's the bad bunch of news at the
end?"

The bad bunch of news was really of a personal nature, stirring up
unpleasant memories, but Hardy passed it off by a little benevolent
dissimulation.

"He says he's mighty glad I steered the sheep away, but there is
something funny going on back in Washington; some combine of the sheep
and lumber interests has got in and blocked the whole Forest Reserve
business and there won't be any Salagua Forest Reserve this year. So I
guess my job of sheep-wrangler is going to hold; at least the judge
asked me to stay with it until Fall."

"Well, you stay then, Rufe," said Creede earnestly, "because
I've kin