"Kick him again," advised Loudon, flicking the end of his rope across the back of a yellow beast with a black mane and tail. The yellow horse stopped trotting instantly. He was rope-broke. It was unnecessary to "fasten," thanks to Loudon's training. "They say yuh oughtn't to exercise right after eatin'," continued Loudon, genially. "An' yo're mussin' up this nice corral, too, Chuck." "I'll muss up this nice little gray devil!" gasped Chuck. "When I git on him I'll plow the hide offen him. ---- his soul! He's half mule." "He takes yuh for a relative!" called Jimmy, who had come up unobserved. "Relatives never do git along nohow!" Jimmy fled, pursued by pebbles. The panting and outraged Chuck returned to his task of passing the rear cinch. Still swearing, he joined Loudon at the gate. The two rode away together. "That sorrel o' Blakely's," observed Chuck, his fingers busy with paper and tobacco, "is shore as pretty as a little red wagon." "Yeah," mumbled Loudon. "I was noticin' him this mornin'," continued Chuck Morgan. "He's got the cleanest set o' legs I ever seen." "This mornin'," said Loudon, slowly, "Where'd yuh see Blakely's sorrel this mornin'?" "In the little corral. He's in there with the Old Man's string." Loudon pulled his hat forward and started methodically to roll a cigarette. So Blakely had spent the night at the ranch. This was the first time he had ever stayed overnight. What did it mean? Calling on Kate was one thing, but spending the night was quite another. With the fatuous reasoning of a man deeply in love, Loudon refused to believe that Blakely could be sailing closer to the wind of Kate's affections than he himself. Yet there remained the fact of Blakely's extended visit. "We've been losin' right smart o' cows lately," remarked Chuck Morgan. "What's the use o' talkin'?" exclaimed Loudon, bitterly. "The Old Man says we ain't, an' he's the boss." "He won't say so after the round-up. He'll sweat blood then. If I could only catch one of 'em at it. Just one. But them thievin' 88 boys are plumb wise. An' the Old Man thinks they're little he-angels with four wings apiece." "Yuh can't tell _him_ nothin'. He knows." "An' Blakely comes an' sets around, an' the Old Man laps up all he says like a cat, an' Blakely grins behind his teeth. I'd shore like to know his opinion o' the Old Man." "An' us." "An' us. Shore. The Old Man can't be expected to know as much as us. You can gamble an' go the limit Blakely has us sized up for sheep-woolly baa-lambs." Morgan made a gesture of exasperation. "We will be sheep," exclaimed Loudon, "if we don't pick up somethin' against the 88 before the round-up! We're full-sized, two-legged men, ain't we? Got eyes, ain't we? There ain't nothin' the matter with our hands, is there? Yet them 88 boys put it all over our shirt. Blakely's right. We're related plumb close to sheep, an' blind sheep at that."