ne air and listenin' to the
wind runnin' loose in the tree-tops and watchin' the clouds driftin' by,
white and clean and proud-like. Pretty soon he rares up and walks over
to the tree where ole Demijohn sets rockin' up and down and chucklin'.
He takes a holt of Demijohn by the shoulder, and he says: 'You darned
ole hocus, you, I lost my job, and I'm broke, lopin' around this country
with you.'

"'Forget it!' says ole Demijohn. 'Ain't I good comp'ny?'

"'Mebby you be--for some folks,' says young John. 'But not for me. You
don't belong up in this here country; you belong back in town, and I
reckon you better fan it.'

"Ole Demijohn he laughed. 'You can't run me off the range that easy,' he
says.

"'I can't, eh?' says young John, and he pulls his gun and up and busts
ole Demijohn over the head. Then, bein' a likely young fella, he shuts
his jaw tight and fans it back to the ranch. The fo'man is some
surprised to see him come ridin' up, whistlin' like he owned the works.
Fellas what's fired mostly looks for work some place else. But young
John got the idee that he owed it to hisself to make good where he
started as a cow-hand. 'I busted my ole friend Demijohn over the head,'
he says to the fo'man. 'We ain't friends no more.'

"The fo'man he grins. 'All right, Jack,' he says. 'But if I see him
hangin' round the corrals ag'in, or in the bunk-house, you needn't to
wait for me to tell you which way is north.'

"Well, young John had done a good job. 'Course ole Demijohn used to come
sneakin' round in the moonlight, once in a spell, botherin' some of the
boys, but he stayed clear of young John. And young John he took to
ridin' straight and hard and 'tendin' to business. I ain't sayin' he
ever got to be president or superintendent of a Sunday School, for this
ain't no story-book yarn; but he always held a good job when he wanted
it, and he worked for a good boss--which was hisself."

Lorry grinned as he turned to Shoop. "That ole Demijohn never got close
enough to me to get busted on the head."

"Them hosses is strayin' down the creek," said Shoop, rising.

They turned and rode north, somewhat to Lorry's surprise. The trail was
ragged and steep, and led from the mesa to the canon bottom of the White
River. Before Lorry realized where they were, Jason loomed before them
on the mesa below.

"She's a quick trail to town in summer," explained Shoop. "Snow hangs
too heavy in the canon to ride it in winter."

At Jason they