"There was a time when it wasn't any too big," he said. "Five years ago your dad had twenty-seven men on the pay-roll. If Dunlavey an' his d.a.m.n a.s.sociation hadn't showed up he'd have had them yet." He turned toward three men who were lounging in the doorway. "Hey, you guys!" he yelled; "this here's your new boss. If you-all ain't glued there you might grab his grips an' tote them up to the ranchhouse. Tell the missus that I'll be along directly with the boss."

Amus.e.m.e.nt over the Southern tw.a.n.g that marked Norton's speech filled Hollis. He had noticed it before and it had made plain to him the reason of Norton's unhurried movements, his slow humor, his habit of quiet scrutiny.

But he had little time for reflection. At Norton's words two men sprang forward to the buckboard and he saw his suitcases disappear into the darkness in the direction of a light that he now saw flickering from some little distance. He jumped out of the buckboard and saw another man spring to the horses' heads and lead them away into the darkness. Then he followed Norton into the light from the open doorway. Presently he was shaking hands with a man who stood there, whose chief articles of raiment were overalls, boots, and a woolen shirt. Almost instantly, it seemed, two of the others had returned and Norton was introducing them as "Ace," "Lanky," and "Weary." These pseudonyms were picturesque and descriptive, though at the time Hollis was in a state of pained incomprehension concerning them. Later he was informed that Ace had been so named on account of having once been caught slipping a playing card of that character into his bootleg during a game of poker.

Incidentally--Hollis was told--gun-play had resulted. That Ace was still active proved that the other man might have profited by keeping his knowledge to himself. Obviously, Lanky deserved his appellation--he was a trifle over six feet tall and proportioned like a young sapling. Weary had been born tired--so Hollis was told by the latter's defamers; defamers, for later Hollis discovered that no man in the outfit could show more surprising agility on occasion than this same Weary.

Hollis found himself inside the bunkhouse, where he was critically inspected by the three men--and before he left, by the fourth, who answered to the name of "Bud." Norton told him that these four comprised his outfit--Bud acting as blacksmith. Hollis remained with the men only long enough to announce that there would be no change; that he intended to hang on and fight for his rights. When Norton told them that Hollis had already begun the fight by slugging Dunlavey and Yuma Ed, the enthusiasm of the four men was unbounded. They a.s.sured him profanely that they were with him to the "finish"--whatever it might be. After which Hollis departed to the ranchhouse.

He found Mrs. Norton to be a pleasant faced woman of twenty-seven or eight, who had--according to Norton--"bossed him for seven years."

Norton grinned hugely over his wife's embarra.s.sed protest.

"I haven't 'bossed' him," she told Hollis, while Norton looked on with amus.e.m.e.nt, "though there have been times when he richly deserved it."

There was a spirited flash in the lady's eyes as she looked at her lord.

"I don't wish to take sides in any marital controversy," Hollis told them. "I don't care to parade my ignorance. However," he smiled, with a wink at Norton, "most men need a boss, if for no other reason than to teach them the value of discipline."

"There!" said Mrs. Norton with a triumphant laugh, and immediately left the two men and went into the kitchen.

After partaking of a hearty meal Hollis and Norton went out on the porch for a smoke and a talk, and it was near midnight when Hollis tumbled into bed, distinctly pleased with the range boss and his admirable wife.

He was asleep within five minutes.

The sun was streaming into his window when he hopped out of bed the next morning, refreshed and eager to make a trip of inspection over his property. He came down stairs lightly, in the hope of being able to slip outside without disturbing anybody, but upon opening the stair door he was surprised to find the cloth on the table in the dining room already spread and hot food steaming upon it. Mrs. Norton was bustling about from the kitchen to the dining room. Evidently the Nortons had been astir for hours.

Mrs. Norton smilingly directed him to a wash basin on a bench just outside the door and stood in the opening a moment, watching him as he drenched his face with the cold water. There was in her manner only the solicitous concern of the hostess whose desire is to place a guest at ease. Hollis decided that Norton had been most fortunate in his choice of a "boss."

"Neil has gone down into the big basin to look after the men," she told him from the doorway. "I don't expect him to return for some little time. Come in to breakfast when you are ready."

To his protest that he would wait until Norton's return before breakfasting she replied with a smile that her husband had already breakfasted, telling him also that in this part of the country everyone rose with the sun.

He stood on the edge of the porch for a moment after washing, drinking in the air that came to him from the plains--a breeze laden with the clear aroma of the sage-brush moist with the dew of the night. When he entered the house Mrs. Norton was nowhere to be seen and he drew up a chair and breakfasted alone.

A little later he embarked upon a tour of inspection. All of the buildings, with the exception of the ranchhouse, which was constructed of logs, with a gable roof and plastered interstices--were built of adobe, low, squat structures with flat roofs. There were six of them--the bunkhouse, mess house, blacksmith shop, the range boss's private shack (from which Norton and his wife had removed after the death of the elder Hollis), the stable, and one other building for the storing of miscellaneous articles. Hollis inspected them all and was not quite convinced that they had reached the stage of dilapidation suggested by Judge Graney.

During his inspection Hollis had seen a patch of garden, some chickens, and down in a small pasture some cows that he supposed were kept for milking. He was leaning on the top rail of the corral fence after he had concluded his trip of inspection when he heard a clatter of hoofs behind him and turned to observe Norton, just riding up to the corral gate. The range boss wore a grin of pleasure.

"How you findin' things?" he questioned.

"In better shape than I expected--after listening to Judge Graney,"

smiled Hollis.

Norton looked critically at him. "Then you ain't changed your mind about stayin' here?" he inquired.

"No," returned Hollis; "I believe I shall get used to it in time."

Norton dismounted, his eyes alight with satisfaction. "That's the stuff!" he declared. He threw the reins over his pony's head and seized Hollis by an arm. "Come along with me--down to my shack," he said; "I've got somethin' to show you."

Without further words he led Hollis toward a building--the one he had occupied previous to the death of the elder Hollis. There were three rooms in the building and in the front one were several articles of furniture and some boxes. One of these boxes Norton opened, taking therefrom several articles of wearing apparel, consisting of a pair of corduroy trousers, a pair of leathern chaps, boots, spurs, two woolen shirts, a blue neckerchief, a broad felt hat, and last, with a grin of amus.e.m.e.nt over Hollis's astonished expression, a cartridge belt to which was attached a holster containing a Colt .45.

"I bought this outfit over at Santa Fe two months ago," he informed Hollis, who was gravely contemplating the lay-out, "expectin' to wear them myself some day. But when I got home I found they didn't quite fit." He surveyed Hollis with a critical eye. "I've been thinkin' ever since you come that you'd fit pretty snug in them." He raised a protesting hand as Hollis was about to speak. "I ain't givin' them to you," he grinned. "But you can't wear no tenderfoot clothes out here.

Some day when we're together an' we've got time you can blow me to another outfit; I won't hesitate about takin' it." He leaned over and tapped the b.u.t.t of the Colt. "You ever handle one of them?" he questioned.

Hollis nodded. Once during a shooting tournament he had done good work with a pistol. But Norton laughed at his nod.

"Mebbe we do it a little different out here," he smiled. "You hop into them duds an' we'll go out into the cottonwood yonder an' try out your gun." He pointed through the door to a small clump of cottonwoods beyond the bunkhouse.

He went out and fifteen minutes later Hollis joined him, looking thoroughly at home in his picturesque rigging. An hour later they returned to the corral fence, where Norton caught up his pony and another, saddling the latter for Hollis. He commented briefly upon the new owner's ability with the six-shooter.

"You use your fists a little better than you use a gun," he remarked with his peculiar drawl, "but I reckon that on the whole you'll be able to take care of yourself--after you've had a little practise gettin'

your gun out." He laughed with a grim humor. "More men have been killed in this country on account of bein' slow on the draw than for any other reason. Don't never monkey with it unless you intend to use it, an' then see that you get it out middlin' rapid. That's the recipe," he advised.

The pony that he had selected for Hollis was a slant-eyed beast, larger than the average, with rangy limbs, black in color with a white muzzle and fetlocks. Hollis voted him a "beaut" after he had ridden him a mile or two and found that he had an easy, steady stride.

Together they made a round of the basin, returning to the ranchhouse for dinner. Hollis was saddle weary and when Norton proposed another trip during the afternoon he was met with the response that the new owner purposed enjoying the cool of the ranchhouse porch for the remainder of the day.

The next morning Hollis was up with the dawn and out on the porch splashing water over his face from the wash basin that stood outside the door. For a long time after washing he stood on the porch, looking out over the big basin at this new and strange world. Endless it seemed, lying before him in its solemn silence; a world of peace, of eternal sunlight, smiling skies, and infinite distance. It seemed unreal to him.

Did this same planet hold the busy cities to which he had been accustomed? The stuffy room, with its smell of damp ink, its litter of papers--his room in the newspaper offices, filled with desks and the clatter of typewriters? Through whose windows came the incessant clamor that welled up from the streets below? He laughed at the thought and turned to see Norton standing in the doorway looking at him with a smile.

"Comparin' her with your little old East?" inquired the latter.

Hollis confessed that he had been doing something of that sort.

"Well," returned Norton, "there ain't any way to compare this country with anything else. Seems as though when the world was made the Lord had a few million miles left which he didn't know what to do with an' so he just dumped it down out here. An' then, havin' business somewhere else about that time he forgot about it an' left it to get along as best it could--which wasn't none too rapid."

This conversation had taken place just twelve days ago, yet Norton's words still remained fresh in Hollis's mind. Yet he did not altogether agree with Norton. The West had impressed him far more than he cared to admit.

This morning, directly after breakfast Hollis and Norton had saddled their horses and ridden out of the basin toward the river, into a section of the country that Hollis had not yet explored. Emerging from the basin, they came to a long, high ridge. On its crest Norton halted.

Hollis likewise drew in his pony. From here they could see a great stretch of country, sweeping away into the basin beneath it, toward a mountain range whose peaks rose barren and smooth in the white sunlight.

"This here's 'Razor-Back' ridge," explained Norton as the ponies halted; "called that on account of bein' so unusually narrow on the top." He pointed to some buildings which Hollis had seen but to which he had given very little attention, thinking they were those of the Circle Bar.

"Them's the Circle Cross buildings," resumed Norton. "They're about three miles from the Circle Bar ranchhouse, directly north through that cottonwood back of the bunkhouse where you tried your gun the day after you come out here. Down below there--where you see them two big cottonwood trees--is 'Big Elk' crossin'. There's another somethin' like it back up the crick a ways, on the other side of the ranchhouse, called the 'Narrows.'" He laughed grimly. "But we don't use them crossins'

much--they're dead lines; generally you'll find there's a Circle Cross man or so hangin' around them--with a rifle. So it don't pay to go monkeyin' around there unless you've got pressin' business."

He made a grimace. "It's my opinion that a good many Circle Bar cattle have crossed the crick in them two places--never to come back." He swept a hand up the river, indicating the sentinel like b.u.t.tes that frowned above the bed of the stream. "The crick is pretty shallow," he continued, "but Big Elk an' the Narrows are the only two places where a man can cross in safety--if we consider that there wouldn't be any Circle Cross man hangin' around them two places. But there ain't no other place to cross an' so we don't go on the other side much."

He turned to Hollis, looking at him with a quaint smile. "From here you can see everything that amounts to anything in this section--which ain't a heap. Of course over there are some mountains--where we was a few days ago lookin' up the boys"--he pointed to some serrated peaks that rose somberly in the southwestern distance--"but as you saw there ain't much to them except rocks an' lava beds. There's some hills there"--pointing to the south--"but there ain't nothin' to see in them. They look a heap better from here than they do when you get close to them. That's the way with lots of things, ain't it?"

Hollis smiled. "I like it," he said quietly, "much better than I did when I came." He turned to Norton with a whimsical smile. "I suppose it will strike you as peculiar, but I've got a notion that I would like to ride around a while alone. I don't mean that I don't like your company, for I do. But the notion has just struck me."

Norton laughed indulgently. "I reckon I won't consider that you're trying to slight me," he returned. "I know exactly how you feel; that sort of thing comes over everybody who comes to this country--sooner or later. Generally it's later, when a man has got used to the silence an'

the bigness an' so on. But in your case it's sooner. You'll have to have it out with yourself."

His voice grew serious. "But don't go ridin' too far. An' keep away from the river trail."

In spite of his ready acquiescence he sat for some time on his pony, watching Hollis as the latter urged his pony along the ridge. Just before Hollis disappeared down the slope of the ridge he turned and waved a hand to Norton, and the latter, with a grim, admiring smile, wheeled his pony and loped it over the back trail.

Once down the slope of the ridge Hollis urged his pony out into the level of the basin, through some deep saccatone gra.s.s, keeping well away from the river trail as advised by the range boss.

In spite of his serious thoughts Hollis had not been dismayed over the prospect of remaining at the Circle Bar to fight Dunlavey and his crew.

He rather loved a fight; the thought of clashing with an opposing force had always filled him with a sensation of indefinable exultation. He reveled in the primitive pa.s.sions. He had been endowed by nature with those mental and physical qualities that combine to produce the perfect fighter. He was six feet of brawn and muscle; not an ounce of superfluous flesh enc.u.mbered him--he had been hammered and hardened into a state of physical perfection by several years of athletic training, sensible living, and good, hard, healthy labor. Circ.u.mstances had not permitted him to live a life of ease. The trouble between his parents--which had always been much of a mystery to him--had forced him at a tender age to go out into the world and fight for existence. It had toughened him; it had trained his mind through experience; it had given him poise, persistence, tenacity--those rare mental qualities without which man seldom rises above mediocrity.