said suddenly, just as they parted to ride their rounds, "the
boys'll be tickled plumb to death. We've been wishing you'd blow in
here ever since the Cross L quit the country."

Pink drew rein and looked back, resting one hand on the cantle. "My
gentle friend," he warned, "yuh needn't break your neck spreading the
glad tidings. Yuh better let them frivolous youths wise-up in their
own playful way, same as you done."

"Sure," agreed Cal, passing his fingers gingerly over certain portions
of his face. "I ain't a hog. I'm willing they should have some sport
with yuh, too."

Next morning, when Cal appeared at breakfast with a slight limp and
several inches of cuticle missing from his features, the Happy Family
learned that his horse had fallen down with him as he was turning a
stray back into the herd.

Chip looked up quizzically and then hid a smile behind his coffee-cup.

It was Weary that afternoon on dayherd who indulged his mendacity for
the benefit of Pink; and his remarks were but paving-stones for a
scheme hatched overnight by the Happy Family.

Weary began by looking doleful and emptying his lungs in sighs deep and
sorrowful. When Pink, rising obligingly to the bait, asked him if he
felt bad. Weary only sighed the more. Then, growing confidential, he
told how he had dreamed a dream the night before. With picturesque
language, he detailed the horror of it. He was guilty of murder, he
confessed, and the crime weighed heavily on his conscience.

"Not only that," he went on, "but I know that death is camping on my
trail. That dream haunts me. I feel that my days are numbered in
words uh one syllable. That dream'll come true; you see if it don't!"

"I--I wouldn't worry over just a bad dream, Mr. Weary," comforted Pink.

"But that ain't all. I woke up in a cold sweat, and went outside. And
there in the clouds, perfect as life, I seen a posse uh men galloping
up from the South. Down South," he explained sadly, "sleeps my
victim--a white-headed, innocent old man. That posse is sure headed
for me, Mr. Perkins."

"Still, it was only clouds."

"Wait till I tell yuh," persisted Weary, stubbornly refusing comfort.
"When I got up this morning I put my boots on the wrong feet; that's a
sure sign that your dream'll come true. At breakfast I upset the can
uh salt; which is bad luck. Mr. Perkins, I'm a lost man."

Pink's eyes widened; he looked like a child listening to a story of
goblins. "If I can