"He trots right along, like he knew where he was goin'," Bud said to himself. "I like his looks--but that ain't always a sign."

Lorry whistled as he dried the dishes. Bud was seated in a huge armchair when Lorry entered the room. Shoop seemed to pay no attention to Bondsman, who whined and occasionally scratched on the door.

"Funny thing happened this mornin'," said Shoop, settling himself in his chair. "I was ridin' down the ole Milk Ranch Trail when I looked up and seen a bobcat lopin' straight for me. The cat didn't see me, but my hoss stopped, waitin' for me to shoot. Well, that kittycat come right along till I could 'a' almost roped him. Bondsman--that's my dog--never seen him, neither, till I hollered. You ought to seen that cat start back without losin' a jump. I like to fell off the hoss, laughin'. Bondsman he lit out--"

"I'll let him in," said Lorry, moving toward the door.

"--After that cat," continued Shoop, "but the cat never treed, I reckon, for pretty soon back comes Bondsman, lookin' as disgusted as a hen in a rainstorm. 'We're gettin' too old,' I tells Bondsman--"

"Ain't you goin' to let him in?" queried Lorry.

"--We're gettin' too old to chase bobcats just for fun," concluded Shoop. "What was you sayin'?"

"Your dog wants to come in."

"That's right. Now I thought you was listenin' to me."

"I was. But ain't he hungry?"

Shoop chuckled. "Let him in, son."

Lorry opened the door. Bondsman stalked in, sniffed at Lorry's boots, and padded to the kitchen.

"What do you feed him?" said Lorry, hesitating.

"He won't take nothin' from you," said Shoop, heaving himself up. "I've had him since he was a pup. You set down and I'll 'tend to him.

"And I says to him," said Shoop, as he returned to his chair,--"I says, 'Bondsman, that there cat was just pa.s.sin' the buck to us to see if we was game.' And he ain't got over it yet."

"I've roped 'em," said Lorry--"roped 'em out of a tree."

"Uh-uh. Where'd you learn to rope?"

"At the Starr Ranch. I worked there once."

"Git tired of it?"

"Nope. I had a argument with the foreman."

"Uh-uh. I reckon it ain't hard to pick a fuss with High Chin."

"I wasn't lookin' for a fuss. It was his funeral."

"So I heard; all but the procession."

"And that's why I came up to see you. Mr. Torrance told me to hunt you up."

"He did, eh? Well, now, John sure gets queer idees. I don't need a man round here."

"I was after a job in the Service."

"And he sends you to me. Why, I ain't ever worked a day for the Service."

"I guess he wanted you to look me over," said Lorry, smiling.

"Well, they's lots of time, 'less you're in a hurry."

"If I can't get in the Service, I'll look up a job punchin'," said Lorry. "I got to get somethin'."

Bondsman stalked in, licking his chops. He nuzzled Shoop's hand. Lorry snapped his fingers. Bondsman strode to him. Lorry patted his knee. The big dog crouched and sprang to Lorry's knees, where he sat, studying him quizzically, his head to one side, his keen eyes blinking in the lamplight. Lorry laughed and patted the dog.

"He's trying to get my number," said Lorry.

"He's got it," said Shoop. "You could 'a' snapped your fingers off afore he'd 'a' come nigh you, 'less he wanted to. And while we're talkin'

about it, you can tell John Torrance I said to give you a try."

Lorry sat up quickly. "Guess you didn't know that Buck Hardy is lookin'

for me," said Lorry. "Mr. Torrance says I got to square myself with Buck afore I get the job."

"He did, eh? Well, speakin' of Buck, how would you like to hear a little talk from a real music-box?"

"Fine!"

Shoop waddled to the piano. "I ain't no reg'lar music sharp," he explained unnecessarily, "but I got a couple of pieces broke to go polite. This here piano is cold-mouthed, and you got to rein her just right or she'll buffalo you. This here piece is 'Annie Laurie.'"

As Bud struck the first note, Bondsman leaped from Lorry's knees and took his place beside the piano. The early dew had just begun to fall when Bondsman joined in. Lorry grinned. The dog and his master were absolutely serious in their efforts. As the tune progressed, Lorry's grin faded, and he sat gazing intently at the huge back of his host.

"Why, he's playin' like he meant it," thought Lorry. "And folks says Bud Shoop was a regular top-hand stem-winder in his day."

Shoop labored at the piano with nervous care. When he turned to Lorry his face was beaded with sweat.

"I rode her clean through to the fence," he said, with a kind of apologetic grin. "How did you like that piece?"

"I always did like them old tunes," replied Lorry. "Give us another."

Shoop's face beamed. "I only got one more that I can get my rope on. But if you can stand it, I can. This here one is 'Dixie.'"

And Bud straightened his broad shoulders, pushed back his sleeves, and waded across the sandy bottoms of Dixie, hitting the high spots with staccato vehemence, as though Dixie had recently suffered from an inundation and he was in a hurry to get to dry land. Bondsman's moody baritone reached up and up with sad persistency.

Lorry was both amused and astonished. Shoop's intensity, his real love for music, was a revelation. Lorry felt like smiling, yet he did not smile. Bud Shoop could not play, but his personality forced its own recognition, even through the absurd medium of an untutored performance on that weird upright piano. Lorry began to realize that there was something more to Bud Shoop than mere bulk.

Bud swung round, puffing. "I got that tune where I can keep her in sight as long as she lopes on the level. But when she takes to jumpin' stumps and makin' them quick turns, I sure have to do some hard ridin' to keep her from losin' herself. Me and Bondsman's been worryin' along behind them two tunes for quite a spell. I reckon I ought to started in younger. But, anyhow, that there piano is right good comp'ny. When I been settin' here alone, nights, and feelin' out her paces, I get so het up and interested that I don't know the fire's out till Bondsman takes to shiverin' and whinin' and tellin' me he'd like to get some sleep afore mornin'."

And Bondsman, now that the music had stopped, stalked to Lorry and eyed him with an expression which said plainly: "It's his weak spot--this music. You will have to overlook it. He's really a rather decent sort of person."

"I got a mechanical player in the bedroom," said Shoop. "And a reg'lar outfit of tunes for dances."

Lorry was tempted to ask to hear it, but changed his mind. "I've heard them players. They're sure good for a dance, but I like real playin'