B. M. Bower

“ Often he caught Uncle Howard eying him queerly, speculatively. It might be good will or bad; it might be that he had dis- covered the mystery of Reid’s singular coming; it might be anything. It had one direct effect, however; Reid took to watching Uncle Howard quite as persistently.
So they rode the range and gathered the Arrow-Point cattle, and those raw and new to the life grew sadder and wearier of the work and the life they lived, and the appraisers took to lolling in the shade of the tents rather than sit on a horse in the blazing sunshine while the cattle were being counted. ”

“ To Reid and another, coming in late from riding circle, it was like nearing home; for they had ridden far on high, waterless ridges where were no cattle, and their systems clamored for food and drink—and plenty of both.
“Uncle Howard may be a good business man, and I’m willing to believe he’s there with the goods when it comes to holding forth in prayer-meeting; but he sure doesn’t savvy cow brutes, or he wouldn’t have sent us riding the high lines for stock that’s sticking close to the creeks a day like this. It sure pains me to see such ignorance.” ”

“ Reid returned shortly. “I don’t know that there’s any law against a man packing a gun on the range. What about it?”
Burkell chuckled dryly. “Nothing—only don’t make a mistake and shoot before you take a second look. A man with nerves is always—uncertain.” He chuckled again to himself and walked away, and Reid looked after him a bit uneasily.
“Uncle Howard isn’t scared to speak right up,” he said meditatively. “Now I wonder what the devil he meant by that? I wonder——” He flipped his rope straight and went back into the corral. ”