"No, you ain't--that's right--you sure been square with me, Patches, an' I ain't fergettin' it. Be you sure 'nuf my friend, Patches? Honest-to-God, now, be you?" His question was pitiful, and Patches assured the poor fellow that he had no wish to be anything but his friend, if only Yavapai Joe would accept his help. "Then," said Joe pleadingly, "if you mean all that you been sayin' about wantin' to help me, you'll do somethin' fer me right now." "What can I do, Joe?" "You kin promise me that you won't say nothin' to nobody 'bout me an' him back there." Patches, to demonstrate his friendliness, answered without thought, "Certainly, I'll promise that, Joe." "You won't tell nobody?" "No, I won't say a word." The poor fellow's face revealed his gratitude. "I'm obliged to you, Patches, I sure am, an' I ain't fergettin' nothin', either. You're my friend, all right, an' I'm your'n. I got to be a-hittin' it up now. Nick'll jest nachally gimme hell for bein' gone so long." "Good-by, Joe!" "So long, Patches! An' don't you get to thinkin' that I'm fergettin' how me an' you is friends." When Patches reviewed the incident, as he rode back to the ranch, he questioned if he had done right in promising Joe. But, after all, he reassured himself, he was under no obligation to interfere with what was clearly none of his business. He could not see that the matter in any possible way touched his employer's interests. And, he reflected, he had already tried the useless experiment of meddling with other people's affairs, and he did not care to repeat the experience. That evening Patches asked Phil's permission to go to Prescott the next day. It would be the first time that he had been to town since his coming to the ranch and the foreman readily granted his request. A few minutes later as Phil passed through the kitchen, Mrs. Baldwin remarked, "I wonder what Patches is feeling so gay about. Ever since he got home from the rodeo he's been singin' an' whistlin' an' grinnin' to himself all the time. He went out to the corral just now as merry as a lark." Phil laughed. "Anybody would be glad to get through with that rodeo, mother; besides, he is going to town to-morrow." "He is? Well, you mark my words, son, there's somethin' up to make him feel as good as he does." And then, when Phil had gone on out into the yard, Professor Parkhill found him. "Mr. Acton," began the guest timidly, "there is a little matter about which I feel I should speak to you." "Very well, sir," returned the cowboy. "I feel that it would be better for me to speak to you rather than to Mr. Baldwin, because, well, you are younger, and will, I am sure, understand more readily." "All right; what is it, Professor?" asked Phil encouragingly, wondering at the man's manner. "Do you mind--ah--walking a little way down the road?" As they strolled out toward the gate to the meadow road, the professor continued: "I think I should tell you about your man Patches."