Big Boy rubbed the bridge of his nose, disconcerted. "You always was before. Not horses? Well, well! What say we go a-visitin', then?" He squinted at the low sun. "I'll call this a day, and we'll mosey right home to my little old shack, and wolf down a few eggs and such. Then we'll wash our hands and faces right good, catch us up some fresh horses out of the pasture, and terrapin up the road a stretch. Bully big moonlight night." He began unhooking his team. "Fine! I just love to ride. Only came about fifty miles to-day, too." "I was thinkin' some of droppin' in on old man Fenderson. I ain't been over there since last night. Coalie! You, Zip! Ged-dap!" "Mr. Adam Forbes," said Charlie, "I've got you by the foot!" * * * * * "Now if you was wishful of any relaxations," said Adam after supper, "you might side me up in the feet hills to-morrow, prospectin'." "I might," said Charlie; "and then again I mightn't. Don't you go and bet on it." Adam stropped his razor. "You know there's three cañons headin' off from MacCleod's Tank Park? And the farthest one, that big, steep, rough, wide, long, high, ugly, sandy, deep gash that runs anti-gogglin' north, splittin' off these spindlin' little hills from the main Caballo and Big Timber Mountain--ever been through that? 'Pache Cañon, we call it--though we got no license to." "Part way," said Charlie. Then his voice lit up with animation. "Say, Big Chump, that's it! Them warty little hills here--that's what makes us look down on you folks the way we do. And here I thought all along it was because you was splay-foot farmers, and unfortunate, you know, that way like all nesters is. But blamed if I don't think it was them hills, all the time. We got regular old he-mountains, we have. But these here little old squatty hills clutterin' up your back yard--why, Adam, they ain't respectable, them hills ain't--squanderin' round where a body might stub his toe on 'em, any time. You ought to pile 'em up, Adam. They look plumb shiftless." "That listens real good to me. You got more brains than people say." Adam scraped tranquilly at cheek and chin, necessitating an occasional pause in his speech. "Now you can see for yourself how plumb foolish and futile a little runt of a man seems to a people that ain't never been stunted." "'Seems' is a right good word," said Charlie. He blew out a smoke ring. "You sure picked the very word you wanted, that time. I didn't think you had sense enough." Adam passed an appraising finger tip over his brown cheek; he stirred up fresh lather.