"Anything left to eat?" he called. "I'm starving."
"When Mr. Stamford has his fourth helping there won't be," replied the Professor. "He's a past master at keeping others talking while he eats."
"Stamford, take Pink Eye to the corral," ordered Cockney. "The bottom corral, you know. He's too tired to be breezy."
"Here! Let me tackle him." The Professor was advancing in a circle on Pink Eye, as if with a vague idea of securing a strangle hold before the broncho could put up a defence. "If I could end the summer with the thought that I'd handled a real devil of a broncho, my pride would sustain me for a whole winter. Even Gee-Gee seems to have lost all ambition."
"Don't you bother," Cockney growled. "I'll take him myself."
Stamford came forward valiantly.
"Don't be afraid of him," cautioned Cockney, removing the saddle. "If he cuts up, let him go; he won't go far. Here's the key to the gate. I think you'll find it swing easily enough. We'll have real hinges and a new gate before another season. Be sure and lock up."
The Professor watched Stamford gingerly lead the jaded horse away.
"I haven't the heart to let him go alone," he decided, and set off running. "If we don't come back," he shouted over his shoulder, "you'll find me gathering up what's left of Mr. Stamford."
Stamford, turning at sound of the Professor's heavy feet, saw Cockney standing before the ranch-house, watching them in that speculative way of his.