Battell was his name. He was an amiable and harmless gossip. Wild Horse did not need a newspaper as long as he was there to hand tobacco and local information across the counter. An old maid in breeches, Lon Forbes had once called him, and the description serves well enough. He was a whole village sewing circle in himself. At a hint of slander his small bright eyes would twinkle and his shrunken little body seem to wriggle like that of a pleased pup. Any news was good news to him. “Mo’ning, Miss Betty. Right hot, I’ll tell the world. Ninety-nine in the shade this very minute. Bart Logan was in to get Doc Caldwell for his boy Tom. He done bust his laig fallin’ from the roof of the root house. Well, Bart was sayin’ your paw needs help right bad to harvest his wheat. Seems like if the gov’ment would send out some of these here unemployed to work on the ranches it would be a good idee. Sometimes Congress acts like it ain’t got a lick o’ sense.” Betty ordered coffee, sugar, tobacco, and other supplies. While he waited upon her Battell made comment pertinent and impertinent. “That Mecca brand o’ coffee seems to be right popular. Three pounds for a dollar. O’ course, if it’s for the bunkhouse-- Oh, want it sent out to the Quarter Circle D E. How’re you makin’ it on your own ranch, Miss Betty? Some one was sayin’ you would clean up quite a bit from your beef herd this year, mebbe twelve or fifteen thousand. I reckon it was Bart Logan.” “Is Bart keeping my books for me?” the girl asked dryly. The storekeeper cackled. “Folks will gossip.” “Yes,” she agreed. “How much is that corn meal a hundred?” “Cost you ten cents more’n the last. Folks talk about cost of livin’ coming down. Well, mebbe ’tis an’ mebbe ’tain’t. I told Bart I wouldn’t believe you’d cleared any twelve or fifteen thousand till I heard you say so. That’s a lot of money, if any one asks you.” Apparently Betty misunderstood him. “Yes, you’re high, but I’ll take two sacks. Send it to the Quarter Circle and charge it to me.” Betty stopped at the railroad station to ask the agent about a shipment of goods her father was expecting, and from there went to Farrell’s to find out about the bolts. It was well on toward noon when she took the road for home. At Four-Mile Crossing it intersected the railroad track. A man with a pack on his back was plodding along the ties in the direction of Wild Horse. The instant her eyes fell on him, the girl recognized the tramp her father had beaten. The pallid face was covered with wheals and bruises. Both of the sullen eyes were ringed with purple and black. They met face to face. Full into hers his dogged gaze challenged. Without a word they passed. Betty crossed the grade and followed a descent to a small grove of pines close to the road. The sun was so hot that she decided to dismount and give the pony a breathing spell. From the saddle she swung, then trailed the reins and loosened the cinch.