"We will. Let's ask him to dinner. He seems to be a pleasant chap; quite natural. He said we were welcome to keep our horses in his corral. But if you want to have him for a real friendly neighbor, Dorothy, don't mention the word 'turkey.' We'll just roast it, make biscuits and gravy, and ask him to dinner. He will understand." "Then I am going to keep the wings and tail to put on the wall of my room. How funny, not to thank a person for such a present." "The supervisor would reprimand him for killing game out of season, if he heard about it." "But just one turkey?" "That isn't the idea. If it came to Mr. Shoop that one of his men was breaking the game laws, Mr. Shoop would have to take notice of it. Not that Shoop would care about one of his men killing a turkey to eat, but it would hurt the prestige of the Service. The natives would take advantage of it and help themselves to game." "Of course, you know all about those matters. But can't I even say 'turkey' when I ask him to have some?" "Oh," laughed Bronson, "call it chicken. He'll eat just as heartily." "The ranger is up," said Dorothy. "I can hear him whistling." "Then let's have breakfast and get this big fellow ready to roast. It will take some time." An hour later, Lorry, fresh-faced and smiling, knocked on the lintel of their open doorway. Bronson, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a diminutive apron to which clung a fluff of turkey feathers, came from the kitchen. "Good-morning. You'll excuse my daughter. She is busy." "I just came over to ask how she was." "Thank you. She is much better. We want you to have dinner with us." "Thanks. But I got some beans going--" "But this is chicken, man! And it is Sunday." Lorry's gray eyes twinkled. "Chickens are right scarce up here. And chicken sure tastes better on Sunday. Was you goin' to turn your stock out with mine?" "That's so!" They turned Bronson's horses out, and watched them charge down the mesa toward the three animals grazing lazily in the morning sunshine. "Your horses will stick with mine," said Lorry. "They won't stray now." "Did I hear a piano this morning, or did I dream that I heard some one playing?" "Oh, it was me, foolin' with Bud's piano in there. Bud's got an amazin' music-box. Ever see it?" "No. I haven't been in your cabin." "Well, come right along over. This was Bud's camp when he was homesteadin'. Ever see a piano like that?" Bronson gazed at the carved and battered piano, stepping close to it to inspect the various brands. "It is rather amazing. I didn't know Mr. Shoop was fond of music." "Well, he can't play reg'lar. But he sure likes to try. You ought to hear him and Bondsman workin' out that 'Annie Laurie' duet. First off, you feel like laughin'. But Bud gets so darned serious you kind of forget he ain't a professional. 'Annie Laurie' ain't no dance tune--and when Bud and the dog get at it, it is right mournful."