"Have any fragments ever been found in that red formation which I observed to the left of us, which would indicate that this vicinity was once the home of the mammoth dinosaur?" Too late he realized that the question was ill-advised. As might be expected, it was Tubbs who broke the awkward silence. "Didn't look to me, as I rid along, that it ever were the home of anybuddy. A homestid's no good if you can't git water on it." McArthur hesitated, then explained: "The dinosaur was a prehistoric reptile," adding modestly, "I once had the pleasure of helping to restore an armored dinosaur." "If ever I gits a rope on one of them things, I'll box him up and ship him on to you," said Tubbs generously. Then he inquired as an afterthought: "Would he snap or chaw me up a-tall?" "What's a prehysteric reptile?" interrupted Susie. "This particular reptile was a big snake, with feet, that lived here when this country was a marsh," McArthur explained simply, for Susie's benefit. The guests exchanged incredulous glances, but it was Meeteetse Ed who laughed explosively and said: "Why, Mister, they ain't been a sixteenth of an inch of standin' water on this hull reserve in twenty year." "Better haul in your horns, feller, when you're talkin' to a real prairie man." Smith's contemptuous tone nettled McArthur, but Susie retorted for him. "Feller," mocked Susie, "looks like you're mixed. You mean when he's talkin' to a Yellow-back. No real prairie man packs a chip on his shoulder all the time. That buttermilk you was raised on back there in Missoury has soured you some." Again an angry flush betrayed Smith's feeling. "A Yellow-back," Susie explained with gusto in response to McArthur's puzzled look, "is one of these ducks that reads books with buckskin-colored covers, until he gets to thinkin' that he's a Bad Man himself. This here country is all tunnelled over with the graves of Yellow-backs what couldn't make their bluffs stick; fellers that just knew enough to start rows and couldn't see 'em through." "Generally," said Smith evenly, as he stared unblinkingly into Susie's eyes, "when I starts rows, I sees 'em through." "And any time," Susie answered, staring back at him, "that you start a row on _this_ ranch, you've _got_ to see it through." The grub-liners raised their eyes in surprise, for there was unmistakable ill-feeling in her voice. It was unlike her, this antagonistic attitude toward a stranger, for, as they all knew, her hospitality was unlimited, and every passer-by whose horse fed at the big hayrack was regarded and treated as a welcome friend.