hen it was good to be alive, and Casey Dunne, hard,
clean, in the full power of his manhood, the fresh west wind in his
face, and a strong, willing horse beneath him, rejoiced in it.

As he rode his thoughts reverted to Clyde Burnaby. Indeed, she had
never, since the preceding night, been entirely absent from them; but
because his training had been to do one thing at a time, and think of
what he was doing to the exclusion of all else, he had unconsciously
pigeonholed her in the back of his mind. Now she emerged.

"Shiner, m'son," he apostrophized his horse, "if things break right
you're going to have a missus. What d'ye think of that, hey, you
yellow-hided old scoundrel? And, by the Great Tyee! you'll eat apples
and sugar out of her hand, and if you so much as lay back your ears at
her I'll frale your sinful heart out with a neck yoke. D'ye get that,
you buzzard-head?"

Shiner in full stride made a swift grab for his rider's left leg, and
his rider with equal swiftness kicked him joyously in the nose.

"You would, hey? Nice congratulations, you old man-eater. I'll make a
lady's horse of you if you don't behave; I sure will. And we'll build a
decent house and break two thousand acres, and keep every foot of it as
fine and clean as a seed bed, and have it all under ditch, the show
place of the whole dry belt. You bet we will. We won't sell an acre.
Fancy prices won't tempt us. We'll keep the whole shootin' match till
we cash in." His mood changed.

"Cash in! It's funny to think of that, old horse, isn't it? And yet ten
years from now you'll be no good, and thirty years from now I'll be
near the end of the deal. And Clyde! Why, Shiner, we can't think of her
as an old lady, can we? With her smooth cheeks a little withered and
the suppleness gone from her body, and her eyes dim and her glorious
hair white. Lord, horse, we mustn't think of it! She'll always be the
same dear Clyde to us, won't she? 'Sufficient unto the day,' my equine
trial and friend. Others will come after us, and there will be
evil-tempered buckskins loping this foothill country and maybe a Casey
Dunne cursing them when you and I are ranging the happy hunting
grounds!"

Out of the sunlit distances a horse and rider appeared, rapidly
approaching. It was Farwell, and, recognizing Dunne, he pulled up.

"In case you don't know it," he said, without preliminary or greeting,
"I'll tell you that our dam went out with the flood. You didn't need to
use dynam