"Pardner," laconically. The Major looked incredulous but said nothing, and while he sought for something further to say in order to prolong the conversation they all turned abruptly at the rattle of rocks. "The boss," said Teeters sardonically from the corner of his mouth, and added, "That's a young dude that's visitin'." Toomey was perfectly equipped for a ride in Central Park. He looked an incongruous and alien figure in the setting in his English riding clothes and boots. The lad who accompanied him was dressed in exaggerated cowboy regalia. Toomey used a double bit and now brought his foaming horse to a short stop with the curb. He vouchsafed the unimportant "natives" in the road only a brief glance, but addressed himself to Teeters. "Where have you been?" he demanded in a sharp tone. "I ain't been lost," replied Teeters calmly. "Where would I be 'cept huntin' stock?" "Why didn't you follow me?" "I think too much of my horse to jam him over rocks when there ain't no special call for it. I kin ride on a run 'thout fallin' off, when they's need to." Toomey's brilliant black eyes flashed. Swallowing the impudence of these western hirelings was one of the hardest things he had to endure in his present life. But even he could see that Teeters thoroughly understood cattle, else he would have long since discharged him. "I've ridden about ten extra miles trying to keep you in sight." "If you'd let them sturrups out like I told you and quit tryin' to set down standin' up, ridin' wouldn't tire you so much." Teeters looked at the English pigskin saddle in frank disgust. Toomey ignored the criticism and said arrogantly: "I want you to follow me from now on." An ominous glint came in the cowboy's eye, but he still grinned. "I wa'nt broke to foller. Never was handled right when I was a colt. Don't you wait fer me, feller, you jest sift along in and I'll come when I git done." Judging from the expression on Toomey's face, it seemed to the Major an opportune time to interrupt. "Since nobody aims to introduce us--" he began good-naturedly, extending a hand. "My name is Prouty--Stephen Douglas Prouty. You've heard of me, like as not." "Can't say I have," replied Toomey in a tone that made the Major flush as he shook the extended hand without warmth. To cover his confusion, the Major turned to the sheepherder whose soft brown eyes held an amused look. "Er--Joe--I'll make you acquainted with Mr. Jasper Toomey, one of our leadin' stockmen in these parts." The introduction received from Toomey the barest acknowledgment as he directed his gaze to the grazing sheep. "Where you taking them?" he asked in a curt tone. "I really couldn't tell you yet." Toomey glanced at him sharply, attracted by the cultivated tone. "I wouldn't advise you to locate here; this is my range." "Own it?" inquired the herder mildly. "N-no." "Lease it?" "N-no." "No good reason then is there to keep me out?"