Bare as was the interior, the ranch house gave promise of comfort and the bunk-house and the stable with its adjacent corral proved equally satisfactory. The fire-place of the bunk-house was built over the bare earth and there they repaired to make a fire and eat the food they had brought with them. The added warmth was a distinct comfort but the smoke brought company on the run. They had scarcely begun their meal when a faint sound led Buck to saunter to the door and look out. Down the steep side of a high butte dropped a horseman with considerably more speed and no more care than a dislodged boulder; arriving at the bottom, his horse straightened out into a run that showed he was expected to get somewhere right away. Buck gravely bit into a sandwich the while he admired the rider’s horsemanship; an admiration that was directed into another channel when the object of it slipped rifle from holster, pumped a cartridge into the barrel, and threw it forward in business-like attitude. "’Spects to have use for it, right soon," mused Buck, and then, over his shoulder: "Better hide, Ned. Here comes a garjun an’ he ’s got his gun out." "Th’ h—l he has!" rumbled Ned. "Come an’ push me up th’ chimley, Buck; I ’m a-scared." Buck strolled back to the fire and half a minute later the horse pounded up to the house, his rider sprang off and came through the door, gun first. He continued across the room with solemn countenance, set his gun against the wall, and went to the fire where he extended his hands to the blaze. "Howdy, Ned; howdy, stranger," was his easy greeting. Ned, sitting cross-legged, smirked up at him. "Howdy, Jack. You were n’t going to run me off’n th’ range, was you?" "Nope. Saw Cheyenne Charley headin’ this way ’bout an hour since. Thought mebbe he ’d burn her up—Pipes o’ peace!" His eyes widened as he gazed at Ned’s upturned mouth. "Bottled beer, or I ’m a Injun. You lives high," and he swallowed involuntarily as the inspiring gurgle stimulated his salivary glands. "I ’m taperin’ off on beer," explained Ned. "Got three bottles, one for Buck and two for me. I ’m biggest. But you can have one o’ mine. Buck, this is Jim’s Jack, head garjun an’ a right good sort. Buck Peters has come to take charge of his own ranch, Jack." "Shake," said Jack. He glanced over the papers Buck handed him and passed them back. All three turned to look at the open door. "Hang up a sign, Buck," advised Ned. "If we stops here long enough we can start a hotel. Come in, Charley."