The effect of his words was peculiar. A deep red colored Patches' face, and his eyes shone with a glad light, as he faced his companion. "And you—what do you think about it, Phil?" he demanded.
The cowboy laughed at the man's eagerness. "Me? Oh, I think just as I have thought all the time—ever since you asked for a job that day in the corral."
Patches drew a long breath, and, sitting very straight in the saddle, looked away toward Granite Mountain; while Phil, watching him curiously, felt something like kindly pity in his heart for this man who seemed to hunger so for a man's work, and a place among men.
Just outside the Deep Wash gate of the big pasture, a few cattle were grazing in the open flat. As the men rode toward them, Phil took down his riata while Patches watched him questioningly.
"We may as well begin right here," said the cowboy. "Do you see anything peculiar about anything in that bunch?"
Patches studied the cattle in vain.
"What about that calf yonder?" suggested Phil, leisurely opening the loop of his rope. "I mean that six-months youngster with the white face."
Still Patches hesitated.
Phil helped him again. "Look at his ears."
"They're not marked," exclaimed Patches.