me. But I guess you-all cain’t do nothin’ but talk to him. No, that wont do, neither, cause a lady cain’t talk the language that ol’ reprobate understands. Reckon you’ll have to wait till he gits out o’ breath. Naow—pull quick, ma’am. Good! Tie it jest like you’d tie a man’s necktie. You aint never tied a man’s necktie? It’s like this-hyere.”

Mariel, panting but triumphant, stood back and admired her handiwork.

“There!” she cried exultantly. “Sometime I’ll get you to teach me how to put those—er—trademarks on the livestock. They call this the Footstool ranch because its trademark looks like a footstool, don’t they?”

“Yes’m. Only they don’t exactly call it a trademark. That horizontal line is the top of the footstool, and them two lines that slants away underneath, they’re the laigs.”

“You have such odd names for your—er—brands. Yesterday I heard Mr. Carr talking about the Lazy Y. What’s that like?”

“Jest the letter V, ma’am, leanin’ over to one side, like it was too lazy to stand up straight. That’s old man Yarmouth’s brand.”

“And the Flying A. That’s Mr. Bledsoe’s mark, isn’t it?”

“Yes’m. The bar of the letter A sticks out on each side, like wings. An’ because it looks like the letter A with wings, they calls it the Flying A. I notice young Jess Bledsoe’s been over quite frequent of late.”

Mariel colored, but smiled. “I think he’s so typically Western. He seems to be made for these picturesque cowboy costumes.”

“I reckon he never misses a chance to make his spurs jingle, ma’am,” Simple remarked, tugging at the tobacco-tag dangling from his vest pocket. “He wears the biggest hat and the hairiest chaps between the Wind River reservation and the Tetons. He likes to tell how he captured Ed Gunn, the outlaw, after Ed had shot the gun out of Jess’ hand, incidentally shootin’ Jess’ little finger off. But don’t get him wrong, ma’am—I bet he can set on the hurricane deck of any bronc in these parts, an’ he can shoot the eye out of a needle. Trouble is, he knows it. But I reckon that’ll wear off in time.”

“I’ve heard already how Mr. Bledsoe lost his little finger,” said Mariel soberly. “He must be very daring. He tells me that the cattle-raisers are bothered by thieves who steal their stock. I should think they’d do something about it.”

“They will, ma’am—when they catch ’em. 

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