Ashton followed to the house and around into the side porch. The other men were making their morning toilets by lantern light, each drying face and hands on his own towel. Ashton and Gowan waited their turn at the basins, and together went into the lamplit dining-room, where the Jap cook was serving bacon, coffee, and hot bread. Ashton lingered over his meal, hoping to see Miss Isobel. But neither she nor her father appeared. Gowan had gone out with the other men. Presently he came back to the side door and remarked in almost a friendly tone: "Your hawss is ready whenever you are, Ashton." "Thanks," said Ashton, rising. "The poor old brute must be rather stiff after the spurring I gave him yesterday." Gowan did not reply. He had gone out again. Somewhat nettled, Ashton hastened after him. Dawn had come. The gray light in the east was brightening to an exquisite pink. The clear twilight showed the puncher waiting at the front of the house beside a saddled horse. A glance showed Ashton that the saddle and bridle were his own, but that the horse was a big, rawboned beast. "That's not my pony," he said. "This here Rocket hawss ain't _any_ pony," agreed Gowan. "He's a man's size hawss. Ain't afraid you'll drop too far when you fall off, are you?" "You're trying to get me on a bucking bronco!" said Ashton, suspiciously eying the bony, wild-eyed brute. "He's no outlaw," reassured Gowan. "Most all our hawsses are liable to prance some when they've et too many rattlers. But Miss Chuckie said you can ride." "I can," said Ashton, tightening the thong of his sombrero down across the back of his head and buttoning his coat. "Roped this Rocket hawss for you because Mr. Knowles wants his mail by sundown," remarked Gowan. "He shore can travel some when he feels like it. Don't know as you'll need your spurs. Here's a five-spot Mr. Knowles said to hand you by way of advance. Thought you might want to refresh yourself over at Stockchute. Wouldn't rather have another saddle and bridle, would you?" "Kindly thank Mr. Knowles for me," said Ashton, pocketing the five dollar bill. "No--the horse is hard-mouthed, but I prefer my own saddle and bridle." He drew his rifle from its sheath, wiped the dew from the butt, and tested the mechanism. The horse cocked his ears, but stood motionless while the rifle was taken out and replaced. Ashton picked up the reins from the ground and threw them over the horse's head. The beast did not swing around, but his ewe neck straightened and his entire body stiffened to a peculiar rigidity. Ashton tested the tightness of his saddle girth, and paused to gaze at the closed front door of the house. Aside from his saddle and burlesque sombrero, he looked every inch a puncher, both in dress and in bearing. But Miss Isobel missed the effect of his new _ensemble_. She missed also the interesting spectacle of his mounting.