“He wants to chase off with the rest of the bunch about ten or fifteen miles. Nobody loves this cañon except the psychic cat and the two pigs. And the pigs don’t love it any more; not since I made a rock corral and waylaid the little devils when they went snooping in there after some stuff I put in a trough. I baited the trap, you see--oh, this gigantic brain of mine has been hitting on all two cylinders lately!--and then I hid. Lizards crawled over me, and the sun blistered the back of my neck while I waited for those two brutes to walk into the foreground. Animal pictures are hard to get, as you may have heard while you were enduring a spasm of Handsome Gary’s shop talk. Cut. Iris in Gary sneaking up with the board gate he’d artcrafted the day before. So the pigs don’t love Handsome Gary any more, and they’re spending most of their spare time talking about me behind my back and hunting for a soft place where they can run a drift under my perfectly nice rock fence, and then stope up to the surface and beat it, registering contempt. I’ll call ’em shoats if they don’t behave. “I scythed some alfalfa to-day, Pat. Put on a swell rural comedy, featuring Handsome Gary making side-swipes at his heels. It was a scream, I reckon. But I came within an inch of scything Faith, only she’s a wizard at jumping over rocks and things, and she did as pretty a side-slip as you ever saw, and made her get-away. I’ve wondered since--would I have had two pinto cats, or only one psychic Voice? I mean one more psychic Voice. This one up on the bluff used to belong to Steve Carson, according to the yarn the Piutes told me. He’d have made a great director, if the rest of him measured up to his lung power. The Piutes say he faded out very mysteriously, five years ago, leaving his holler behind him. I’m afraid folks didn’t like him very well. At any rate his Voice is darned unpopular. I can’t say it makes any great hit with me, either. Though it’s not so bad, at that. The main trouble seems to be not having any man to go with the Voice. The Piutes couldn’t feature it at all. They wouldn’t drive the horses into the corral, even. I had to double for them when they got the bunch down there at the mouth of the cañon. Jazzed around for two hours on an Injun pony with a gait like a pile driver, getting your horses into your corral. You seem to have four or five fair imitations, Pat. The rest are the bunk, if you ask me. Not broken and not worth breaking. Don’t even look good to eat. “There is one work team which I mean to give a try-out when I put on my character part entitled, Making Hay Whether the Sun Shines or Not. They have collar marks, and they’re old enough to be my dad’s wedding team. Lips hang down like a mule, and hollows over their eyes you could drop an egg in. I hate to flatter you, kid, but your horse herd, take it by and large, is not what I’d be proud of. You’re a wonderful girl--you got stung in several places at once.