Governor Barker, M.D., seeing Mr. McLean unexpectedly after several years, hailed the horseman with frank and lively pleasure, and, inquiring who might be the other riders behind, was told that they were Shorty, Chalkeye, and Dollar Bill, come for Christmas. “And dandies to hit town with,” Mr. McLean added. “Redhot.” “I am acquainted with them,” assented his Excellency. “We’ve been ridin’ trail for twelve weeks,” the cow-puncher continued, “and the money in our pants is talkin’ joy to us right out loud.” Then Mr. McLean overflowed with talk and pungent confidences, for the holidays already rioted in his spirit, and his tongue was loosed over their coming rites. [Illustration: Border] “We’ve soured on scenery,” he finished, in his drastic idiom. “We’re heeled for a big time.” “Call on me,” remarked the Governor, cheerily, “when you’re ready for bromides and sulphates.” “I ain’t box-headed no more,” protested Mr. McLean; “I’ve got maturity, Doc, since I seen yu’ at the rain-making, and I’m a heap older than them hospital days when I bust my leg on yu’. Three or four glasses and quit. That’s my rule.” “That your rule, too?” inquired the Governor of Shorty, Chalkeye, and Dollar Bill. These gentlemen of the saddle were sitting quite expressionless upon their horses. “We ain’t talkin’, we’re waitin’,” observed Chalkeye; and the three cynics smiled amiably. [Illustration: Border] “Well, Doc, see yu’ again,” said Mr. McLean. He turned to accompany his brother cow-punchers, but in that particular moment Fate descended, or came up, from whatever place she dwells in, and entered the body of the unsuspecting Governor. “What’s your hurry?” said Fate, speaking in the official’s hearty manner. “Come along with me.” “Can’t do it. Where’re yu’ goin’?” “Christmasing,” replied Fate. “Well, I’ve got to feed my horse. Christmasing, yu’ say?” “Yes; I’m buying toys.” “Toys! You? What for?” “Oh, some kids.” “Yourn?” screeched Lin, precipitately. [Illustration: Border] His Excellency the jovial Governor opened his teeth in pleasure at this, for he was a bachelor, and there were fifteen upon his list, which he held up for the edification of the hasty McLean. “Not mine, I’m happy to say. My friends keep marrying and settling, and their kids call me uncle, and climb around and bother, and I forget their names, and think it’s a girl, and the mother gets mad. Why, if I didn’t remember these little folks at Christmas they’d be wondering—not the kids, they just break your toys and don’t notice; but the mother would wonder—‘What’s the matter with Dr. Barker? Has Governor Barker gone back on us?’—that’s where the strain comes!” he broke off, facing Mr. McLean with another spacious laugh. [Illustration: Border] But the cow-puncher had ceased to smile, and now, while Barker ran on exuberantly McLean’s wide-open eyes rested upon him, singular and intent, and in their hazel depths the last gleam of jocularity went out.