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“I just drifted. I followed the harvest westward and then I had a chance to take some cattle down to Colorado. It was about then I met Steve Whitney, and he gave me a job, and here I am.” How people did pry and talk about all that Kingthorpe heir business! They seemed to think it something remarkable. The minute he showed himself in the street, people called to him and asked him if he wasn’t awfully glad. Johnny Blossom hastened to get Mother’s sharpest scissors—the big shiny ones—for he intended to cut some long strips of stout cloth to tie the goat’s legs with. Johnny cut and cut. Suddenly the big blades slipped, caught Johnny’s little finger, and before he knew it, had cut the tip of it clean off! It hurt awfully—oh, well—not so terribly after all; but my, oh, my! how it bled! Johnny Blossom bound his not over-clean handkerchief around it, but still the blood came. Now it was all over his trousers. Perhaps he had better hide until it stopped..
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The following night, just as Bob was about to turn in, Ted Hoyt knocked at his door. Evidently Ted had come in a hurry, for he was covered with dust and was breathing hard. By the time his story was finished, a knock sounded on the door and it opened to let in Jenkins, the camp marshal. The sun was hot as they rode and they kept close to the winding river where there was some vegetation and a few trees that gave a little shelter. After they had covered several miles they came upon crude attempts at irrigation which extended the fertility of the land back some distance from the river. This time the answer was no—once was enough. So Bob, determined to get as much fun as possible out of his enforced stay at the Canyon, started out alone and joined the group of tourists in front of the hotel. They were already preparing to make the descent. He decided to walk rather than trust to one of the funny fat little mules which were provided for the visitors who were too stout or too lazy to use the means of locomotion given them by nature..
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