"Nothing's the matter. Go on and deal," said the strayman. He smiled at Lafe, but his hands were unsteady. The boss played wretchedly and lost more than he could afford. "Whatever are you thinking about, Lafe?" exclaimed his partner, in exasperation. "I swear I never done saw a raw beginner overbid his hand worse'n you done." "I'm right sorry. I was studying over something." On the round next morning the boss made it a point to ride with Baptismo. The outfit was dispersed in a wide semi-circle covering an area five miles in diameter, and moved slowly forward within sight of one another, converging upon a cuplike valley. In this manner they drove ahead of them all the cattle within the limits of their sweep. Usually the half-breed was sent with the first bunch dispersed, for he was a capable hand, but instead of posting Baptismo this morning as he did the others, Lafe kept him at his side. Side by side they trotted slowly through the sage-brush, with the cattle careering in front, pausing often to look back at them. Several times Lafe raised his voice merrily. "Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee," he sang. The half-breed glanced at him obliquely and remarked: "You seem right fond of that song, Mr. Johnson." "Yes? Did I sing that before? I hadn't noticed it," the boss answered, and went on with the verse. All through the day Johnson kept close to Baptismo. It was quite evident that the half-breed had difficulty holding himself in check under this close espionage, but the only emotion he betrayed was a quickened alertness. And all through the day Lafe sang or hummed the ballad of "The Dying Cowboy." On the next afternoon, as they were picking their way through a tangle of ocatilla among the foothills, Johnson burst into full-throated song-- Oh, bury me not on the lone prairee, Where the wild ki-yotes will howl o'er me-- Where the rattlesnakes hiss and the wind blows free-- "For the love of God!" said Baptismo. "Stop that song!" CHAPTER XXXV THE DEATH DICE He was shaking as with a chill, although the perspiration stood out on chin and forehead. On hearing this Lafe glanced in his direction and asked, good-naturedly enough, what was the matter. "Nothing," said the half-breed quickly, "only you haven't sung anything else in two days but that song, and my nerves ain't good after the time we had at the ranch." Several times in the course of the evening, as the outfit loafed in camp after supper, the boss had occasion to pass Baptismo where he lay by the fire. Each time he either hummed or whistled a line of "The Dying Cowboy."