Harriet saw beside her a little, bent old man; his legs were bowed from a life in the saddle and his neck was tanned and wrinkled from years of weathering. He wore a much mended flannel shirt, a drooping vest, and short overalls that revealed gray socks and congress gaiters much run down at heel. Harriet thought that, except for his merry, honest face, he looked very much like a tramp. She was rather surprised when her brother introduced the old man to her. After greeting her cordially he went on to explain to Rob that he had not, after all, a fresh cow in the herd good enough to sell for a milk cow, but that he would send out the heifers he had promised and a cow that would be fresh in the fall. Then he turned to Harriet, wished her "good luck" and moved away. "Rob, do all the cowboys dress in that--well, shabby sort of way?" Harriet asked as she and her brother left the dining room together. "So that's what you didn't like!" said Rob. "Dan Brannan isn't a cowboy though. He's one of the richest cattle men around here. Worth over a hundred thousand, I've heard. That's why he can afford to wear old clothes." "He might at least be neat." Rob laughed. "I'll remind you of that some day about two months from now, when you've quit wearing starched shirtwaists." As they were to start for the ranch early in the morning, they went to bed soon after supper. Harriet fell asleep at once and did not wake until a sharp tattoo rattled on her door. "Roll out, sis," Rob was calling, "nearly six and we want to hit the trail by seven." When Harriet came down into the office, she found it thronged, and humming with suppressed excitement. "The sheriff has just come into town with two horse thieves," Rob explained. "They rounded 'em up on the Malade river, just above here, with a string of ponies. Another of the fellows got away after wounding one of the sheriff's men. It must be cold hiding out in the foothills this time of year. Well, let's eat and move on. We want to make the Hyslop ranch before dark." As they stepped out into the street after breakfast Harriet shivered. "It's cold at night in the mountains all right," Bob admitted, "but it's hot enough as soon as the sun gets up. You'll see." Turning the corner to the livery stable he stopped and pointed to a new farm wagon, ready loaded. "That's ours. You get up while I hitch and we'll be off in a jiffy." Harriet stared at the wagon in dismay. The sloping roof of canvas that was roped over the load looked to her as insurmountable as one of the snow-covered peaks the train had passed. The wagon seat had been lifted from the sockets and was balanced on top of a bale of hay. Several reels of barbed wire, a plow and her trunk gave Harriet a hint of what company she might find herself in if the wagon should roll into the ditch. She managed, however, to get aboard. While she was watching her brother hitch the team, a clatter of hoofs made them both look up.