Bartley grinned and glanced up and down the register. Wishful dug into a corner with his broom. Something shot rattling across the floor. Wishful laid down the broom and upon hands and knees began a search. Presently he rose. A slow smile illumined his face. He had found a pair of dice in the litter on the floor. He made a throw, shook his head, and picked up the dice. His sweeping became more sprightly. Amused by the preoccupation of the lank and cautiously humorous Wishful, Bartley touched the bell on the desk. Wishful promptly stood his broom against the wall, rolled down his sleeves, and stepped behind the counter. "I think I'll pay my bill," said Bartley. Wishful promptly named the amount. Bartley proffered a ten-dollar bill. Wishful searched in the till for change. He shook his head. "You got two dollars comin'," he stated. "I'll shake you for that two dollars," said Bartley. Wishful's tired eyes lighted up. "You said somethin'." And he produced the dice. Just then the distant "Zoom" of the westbound Overland shook the silence. Wishful hesitated, then gestured magnificently toward space. What was the arrival of a mere train, with possibly a guest or so for the hotel, compared with a game of craps? While they played, the train steamed in and was gone. Wishful won the two dollars. Bartley escaped to the veranda and his reflections. Presently he rose and strolled round to the corral. Wishful's three saddle-animals were lazying in the heat. Bartley was not unfamiliar with the good points of a horse. He rejected the sorrel with the Roman nose, as stubborn and foolish. The flea-bitten gray was all horse, but he had a white-rimmed eye. The chestnut bay was a big, hardy animal, but he appeared rather slow and deliberate. Yet he had good, solid feet, plenty of bone, deep withers, and powerful hindquarters. Bartley stepped round to the hotel. "Have you a minute to spare?" he queried as Wishful finished rearranging the furniture of the lobby. Wishful had. He followed Bartley round to the corral. "I'm thinking of buying a saddle-horse," stated Bartley. Wishful leaned his elbows on the corral bar. "Why don't you rent one--and turn him in when you're through with him." "I'd rather own one, and I may use him a long time." "I ain't sufferin' to sell any of my hosses, Mr. Bartley. But I wouldn't turn down a fair offer." "Set a price on that sorrel," said Bartley. Now, Wishful was willing to part with the sorrel, which was showy and looked fast. Bartley did not want the animal. He merely wanted to arrive at a basis from which to work. "Well," drawled Wishful, "I'd let him go for a hundred." "What will you take for the gray?" "Him? Well, he's the best hoss I got. I don't think he's your kind of a hoss." "The best, eh? And a hundred for the sorrel." Bartley appeared to reflect.