Dismounting from her horse, Gale let him drink from a tiny brooklet. A low, cheerily whistled tune caught her attention and she looked about for the whistler. Several yards from her, industriously whittling a wooden twig, sat a small boy, with ragged clothes and tangled curly hair. His eyes, when he looked up at Gale, were as blue as the skies overhead.
“’Lo,” he said with an engaging grin.
“Hello,” she replied smilingly, dropping down beside him.
“Fine horse, that,” he declared. “You’re from the K Bar O, aintcha?”
“That’s right,” she answered. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bobby,” he answered brightly.
She accepted this wondering who in the world Bobby might be. “You live around here?” she asked.
“On t’other side of the hill,” he replied. “You’re just visitin’, huh?”
“Yes, I live in the East.”
“Where?”