“Shore they do, ma’am. You don’t bed ’em and tuck ’em in like you do cows. I wouldn’t be no cowman,” superiorly. “Gimme two-three weeks on the trail,” he added eagerly, “I wouldn’t hatter watch so hard, like now. They feed against the wind, ma’am. I got the bell on that big white Del Sol mare. I allus listen which way the bell is soundin’, and so I allus know where they’re at: Why, sleep? I slep’ most a hour last night. When I don’t hear the bell I wake up. It’s easy if you savvy hawses. I ain’t gwine to lose nary head, to Aberlene, ma’am.” He colored deeply. “I—well, I ain’t, now!” “I’ve got all good men, Cinquo,” said his deity. “They savvy cows and savvy horses.” “Yes, ma’am.” The boy’s throat gulped. “Have some coffee, Cinquo,” said Taisie. “Milly, give Cinquo something to eat. He hasn’t lost a head.” Seated comfortably on the ground, Cinquo grew more confident. “Ma’am, ain’t the nights han’some?” he ventured. “So bright, quiet-like. Times, I lay on the groun’ by my hawse; come midnight, I kin hear the bell, and hear my hawses blow, nighest ones; er sometimes hear the cows grunt and blow, too, bellies full and right contented. So all the world’s kind o’ happy-like. And the stars is so fine, ma’am! Don’t you think so? Like glass, they air. Seems like God must ’a’ busted a winderpane and slammed the pieces right up agin the sky, and they stuck there, shinin’ like they was wet.” “Yes, Cinquo. So you’ve noticed the stars too?” “Then we both do!” he exulted. His young, shy eyes shone. Indeed, he was her knight, ready to risk all in her honor. So were his nights borne, sleepless in ardor and reverence. “Stahs!” broke in Milly. “Stahs! They’s common! I know whaffur I go Nawth—I gwine to git me a apple! Onliest apple I ever done et,” she explained, “were what Sher’f McMasters gimme. He taken it out’n his saddle pocket and said would I eat it? ‘Mister Sher’f,’ says I, ‘what setch a thing like disher cost now?’ says I. ‘Oh, it mout ’a’ costed fifty cents,’ says he, ‘’cludin’ of freight.’ ‘Huh,’ says I, ‘ef it cost fifty cent, I reckon Ah gwine to stahve on, stahve on!’ But some time, ef ever I git Nawth, and ever I git whah apples is at, an’ ain’t nobody a-lookin’—u-m-m—huh! Now, Mr. Dan McMasters, he sayed——” “Go get my horse, Cinquo!” broke in Taisie Lockhart imperatively. “Milly, pack the dishes. Come, we must get on!” [Illustration: _A Paramount Picture. North of 36._ “WHAT ARE YOU—FRIEND OR FOE?” DEMANDS JIM NABOURS.] CHAPTER XVI IN THE NIGHT