r change. Nothing
ever changed here but the people.

But he himself had not changed. Twenty-seven years in this country was
a long time, for here life was not measured by age, but by experience.
Looking back over the years he could see that he was living to-day as
he had lived last year, as he had lived during the last decade--a hard
life, but having its compensations.

His coming to the Two Diamond ranch was merely another of those
incidents that, during the past year, had broken the monotony of range
life for him. He had had some success in breaking up a band of cattle
thieves which had made existence miserable for Sid Tucker, his
employer, and the latter had recommended him to Stafford. The promise
of high wages had been attractive, and so he had come. He had not
expected to surprise any one. When during his conversation with the
tall man in Dry Bottom he had discovered that the latter was the man
for whom he was to work he had been surprised himself. But he had not
revealed his surprise. Experience and association with men who kept
their emotions pretty much to themselves had taught him the value of
repression when in the presence of others.

But alone he allowed his emotions full play. There was no one to see,
no one to hear, and the silence and the distances, and the great,
swimming blue sky would not tell.

Stafford's action in coming to Dry Bottom for a gunfighter had puzzled
him not a little. Apparently the Two Diamond manager was intent upon
the death of the rustler he had mentioned. He had been searching for a
man who could "shoot," he had said. Ferguson had interpreted this to
mean that he desired to employ a gunfighter who would not scruple to
kill any man he pointed out, whether innocent or guilty. He had had
some experience with unscrupulous ranch managers, and he had admired
them very little. Therefore, during the ride today, his lips had
curled sarcastically many times.

Riding through a wide clearing in the cottonwood, he spoke a thought
that had troubled him not a little since he had entered Stafford's
employ.

"Why," he said, as he rode along, sitting carelessly in the saddle,
"he's wantin' to make a gunfighter out of me. But I reckon I ain't
goin' to shoot no man unless I'm pretty sure he's gunnin' for me." His
lips curled ironically. "I wonder what the boys of the Lazy J would
think if they knowed that a guy was tryin' to make a gunfighter out of
their old straw boss. I re