"Where was you goin', Phil?" chuckled the Dean.
"You sure warn't losin' any time," laughed Curly.
And Bob, without taking his eyes from the vicious animal at the end of his taut riata, and working skillfully with his trained cow-horse to foil every wicked plunge and wild leap, grinned with appreciation, as he added, "I'll bet four bits you can't do it again, Phil, without a runnin' start."
"I just thought I'd keep Little Billy company for a spell," smiled Phil. "He looked so sort of lonesome up there."
The stranger, at first amazed that they could turn into jest an incident which might so easily have been a tragedy, suddenly laughed aloud—a joyous, ringing laugh that made Phil look at him sharply.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton," said Patches meekly, but with that droll voice which brought a glint of laughter into the foreman's eyes and called forth another chuckle from the Dean.
"You can take my saddle," said Phil pointedly. "It's over there at the end of the watering trough. You'll find the stirrups about right, I reckon—I ride with them rather long."
For a moment the stranger looked him straight in the eyes, then without a word started for the saddle. He was half way to the end of the watering trough when Phil overtook him.
"I believe I'd rather saddle him myself," the cowboy explained quietly, with his sunny smile. "You see, I've got to teach these horses some cow sense before the fall rodeo, and I'm rather particular about the way they're handled at the start."
"Exactly," returned Patches, "I don't blame you. That fellow seems rather to demand careful treatment, doesn't he?"