d
twenty pounds.

"He'll make good," soliloquized the supervisor. "He likes horses and
dogs, and he knows men. He's all human--and there's a lot of him. And
they say that Bud Shoop used to be the last word in riding 'em straight
up, and white lightning with a gun."

The supervisor shook his head. "Take a letter to Collins," he said.

The stenographer glanced up. "Senator Collins, Mr. Torrance?"

"Yes. And make an extra copy. Mark it confidential. You need not file
the copy. I'll take care of it. And if Mr. Shoop is appointed to my
place, he need know nothing about this letter."

"Yes, sir."

"Because, Evers," Said Torrance, relaxing from his official manner a
bit, "it is going to be rather difficult to get Mr. Shoop appointed
here. I want him. I can depend on him. We have had too many theorists in
this field. And remember this; stay with Shoop through thick and thin
and some day you may land a job as private secretary to a State
Senator."

"All right, sir. I didn't know that you were going into politics, Mr.
Torrance."

"You're off the trail a little, Evers. I'll never run for Senator. I'm
with the Service as long as it will have me. But if some clever
politician happens to get hold of Shoop, there isn't a man in this mesa
country that could win against him. He's just the type that the mesa
people like. He is all human.--Dear Senator Collins--"

The stenographer bent over his book.

Later, as Torrance closed his desk, he thought of an incident in Shoop's
life with which he had long been familiar. The Airedale, Bondsman, had
once been shot wantonly by a stray Apache. Shoop had found the dog as
it crawled along the corral fence, trying to get to the cabin. Bud had
ridden fifty miles through a winter snowstorm with Bondsman across the
saddle. An old Mormon veterinary in St. Johns had saved the dog's life.
Shoop had come close to freezing to death during that tedious ride.

Bud Shoop's assets in the game of life amounted to a few acres of mesa
land, a worn outfit of saddlery, and a small bank account. But his
greatest asset, of which he was blissfully unconscious, was a big,
homely love for things human and for animals; a love that set him apart
from his fellows who looked upon men and horses and dogs as merely
useful or otherwise.

Chapter XIII

_The Horse Trade_

The following day a young cowboy, mounted upon a singularly noticeable
buckskin horse, rode down the main street of Jason and dismount