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“Yes, I think so. Reg’lar bandits—about fifty of ’em.” Oh, yes—it was just that that made everything worse. Johnny Blossom sat in his shirt sleeves close by the hearth, staring thoughtfully into the fire. “Yes,” answered Bob, “I have. I wanted to tell Mr. Whitney personally about it but as things are likely to happen right off, I think we’d better get busy without him.”.

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Steve Whitney filled his pipe and then began a description of what is perhaps the most important thing the Government has ever done for the West. Pshaw! That was always the way! The more pains you took, the worse was the writing. Some of the letters were awfully small and crooked and others were too big; and the whole thing slanted down hill so that there was scarcely room for his name underneath in the corner; and of course his name must be there. There was very little more chance for conversation, as they were rapidly approaching a low, adobe house surrounded by outbuildings which were evidently stables and laborers’ houses. When they galloped in they were hailed by a bunch of cowboys who were perched on the corral fence. Jerry answered them with a shout and waved his hand but continued to lead the way to the main building. On the porch two men were sitting in chairs tilted up against the wall. Jerry introduced Bob to them. His mind busy with these thoughts, he found that the long climb to the top did not bother him. After a wash-up he had supper and went out on the hotel piazza. The sun had gone but its last banners of light were flung up against the sky behind the farthest horizon. The depths of the Canyon were black. Out of this rose myriad pinnacles, dim in outline, rich in deep colors. Just at the opposite rim a strip of color spun along, tipping the horizon with a golden glow..