“Nobody knows,” Skinny answered; “he just kind of growed up, here in the Southwest.  I’ve heard that his mother died when he was born and his father was a preacher or something doing missionary work—­I reckon that’s what you’d call it—­among the Mexicans and Indians and got the smallpox while he was nursing them through an epidemic and it killed him, which left th’ Ramblin’ Kid an orphan when he wasn’t much more than a baby.  The Mexicans or Indians took care of him till he was old enough to ride and then he began to ramble around and has always kept it up just as if he was hunting for something—­”

“How interesting!” Carolyn June exclaimed, “almost like a story!”

“It is kind of unusual,” Skinny continued, “of course it may not all be true, but one thing is sure—­th’ Ramblin’ Kid seems to have some sort of fascination for the Greasers and the Indians; they all worship him, and he’s a witch when it comes to handling horses!”

“He seems to be,” Carolyn June commented thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Skinny answered, “look how that Gold Dust maverick has made right up with him—­I don’t believe she ever will have anything to do with anybody else!”

Carolyn June laughed softly to herself.  She did not tell Skinny of her visits to the circular corral and that the outlaw mare already had accepted her as a good friend.

She and Skinny loafed idly as far down the valley as the Narrows, and when Sing Pete sounded the supper gong they were again back at the house.

After the evening meal the cowboys hung around the house for a while until a suggestive look from Old Heck caused them reluctantly to follow him to the bunk-house, leaving Parker and Skinny with Ophelia and Carolyn June.

It was the foreman’s last evening with the widow before the beef round-up.  She was rather diffident and held him in safe channels of conversation.  Skinny and Carolyn June sat on the porch until it was quite dark, then went into the house.  She drummed carelessly and lightly on the keys of the piano—­her thoughts evidently far away.  Parker and Skinny left the house early.  At the door the foreman whispered to the widow: 

“Don’t forget what I spoke about coming out from town!”

Ophelia flushed and murmured, “No, indeed, but—­” she did not finish the sentence.  She was about to say, “don’t build false hopes!”

When Parker and Skinny entered the bunk-house Old Heck and all the cowboys except the Ramblin’ Kid were asleep.  He was half-reclining on his bed, smoking.  At the entrance of Skinny and Parker be got up and without speaking strolled outside and through the darkness toward the circular corral.  The night was warm and the stuffy air of the bunk-house, together with the noisy snoring of Old Heck, made him restless.  He stood a few moments looking at Captain Jack and the Gold Dust maverick.  Then, moving back into the shed, dropped down and laid with his shoulders and head on his saddle, which was thrown on the ground under the shelter.  The side of the building, next to the corral, was open and the Ramblin’ Kid could see, from where he was lying, the dark bulks of the two horses at the farther side of the corral.