"That looks as if he knew what he was about, and intended to stay," mused Steele. Early the following morning the "decent sort of broncho," with its bridle reins tied to the pommel of the saddle, was discovered in front of Steele's shack, pawing the snow in an ineffectual attempt to get a breakfast. Bill Travers, returning with the stage, according to request, drove the beast ahead of him down to the first ranch, and, taking off saddle and bridle, turned it into a large corral with dozens of other horses to winter. In the spring one by one the owners would straggle along, identify their horses and saddles, pay their bills, and depart for the mountains. The owner of the ranch pitched the saddle under a shed, and thought no more about the transaction. Bill Travers, whirling his whip over the backs of his four stage horses, gave the stranger and his horse no more thought. Society Bill, having disseminated his news among the other miners, presently forgot it. But Amos Steele neither forgot nor ceased to speculate. "Who is he, and what is he doing on the Creek?" Steele asked himself. The first part of the question Ross answered the following Sunday. He could scarcely wait to open the door before announcing: "Lon Weston is over on the Creek. He is cousin to the McKenzies!" CHAPTER XI MEADOW CREEK VALLEY MISSES LESLIE ROSS could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses when he saw Lon Weston riding along the trail below the dump. The boy had pushed the car with its load of ore out to the bumper and dumped it before he saw the horseman in the sheepskin coat, the hairy chaps, and a fur cap drawn over forehead and ears. The horse shied at the chunks of ore rolling almost to its feet, and Weston looked up. "Hello, there!" shouted Ross. "What on earth are you doing here?" Weston drew in his horse. "Hello, Doc!" he returned with gruff pleasantness without answering the question. "Doc" slipped and slid down the snowy path to the trail, and held out a cordial hand. "How's your leg?" "All right." Weston gripped the extended hand heartily. "Almost as good 's new." His brown eyes above his heavy stubby beard held a pleasanter expression than Ross had seen in them while nursing their owner. They were deep eyes, capable of mirroring accurately the varied moods of the man looking out of them. "I didn't recognize you in Cody three weeks ago," Ross was beginning when Weston interrupted him. Leaning down from his saddle he met the boy's eyes steadily. "Remember," he said slowly and meaningly, "that you didn't see me--nor hear from me--in Cody." "All right," agreed Ross, embarrassed by the fixity of the other's stare. "I'll forget it hereafter, but I want to thank----" "Cut it out," commanded Weston briefly, straightening again in the saddle.