“Yes, yes, I am a tenderfoot, as you call it,” admitted Antoine, “that is, I have never been in this part of the country before.” “Then how, in the name of a pea-green, six-toothed rattle-snake, did you get the inside rail on this little bronc’ o’ mine?” “That is quite easy,” the young paleontologist answered. “One of the things that I know is the bones of a horse. You can tell a plow horse from a cow-pony?” “They don’t make any liquor with kick enough in it to make me that blind,” was the reply. “Yet the only difference is that the bones of one are heavier than those of the other,” Antoine remarked. “My eye is more trained to small differences than yours, that is all. You know horses?” “In straight cow-country fashion, I ain’t no slouch,” the range-rider declared. “I c’n pick the best pony out of a jammed corral quicker’n a scared jack-rabbit c’n make three jumps.” “How do you tell?” The other thought for a moment. “I jest takes a look at ’em an’ knows right off,” he answered. “A real cow-pony shapes up right.” “But the shape is merely muscle and skin over the bones,” the other reminded him. “Suppose the skeletons of half a dozen horses were all mixed up in a heap, you couldn’t put them together?” “I pass,” was the reply. “Which I’ve never made what you might call a side-partner of a skeleton.” The paleontologist smiled. “I have,” he said. “I have spent many years with skeletons as my best friends. It is my ‘game,’ as you call it.” “How’s that?” “You round up the cattle that are alive, I round up the animals that are dead, that have been dead millions of years. I dig them out of the rocks where they are buried.” “Oh, I sagatiate!” the cowboy exclaimed, nodding his head comprehendingly, “you’re a bone-hunter! There’s a bunch of ’em out the other side of Blue Goose Gully.” “Yes, yes,” the young scientist answered, “I’m one of that ‘bunch.’” “Now I’ve got your brand,” the range-rider declared, with satisfaction. “You don’t hold nothin’ against me, pard, for not bein’ wise?” “No, no, of course not,” Antoine retorted, “why should I?” “Havin’ made myself look like a tumble-weed for sense,” said the other, with an air of self-disgust, “I got to get square. But I opine I c’n break even with you, after all.” “How’s that?” The cowboy lighted a cigarette from the ashes of his former one, and began: “’Bout a couple o’ weeks ago, when I was ridin’ down a maverick heifer that wanted to take a bite out o’ the horizon, I turned the corner of a draw, an’ right over my head was the skull o’ some kind of critter, skull an’ a hoof. Which I ain’t superstitious none, but it did look like that ornery critter was walkin’ out o’ the rock to chase me, same as I was chasin the heifer.” Antoine turned eagerly, but the rumble of the incoming train drowned his answer, and, a moment later, Perry jumped out, all enthusiasm and excitement. He rushed up to his friend.