After all, there was some compensation for early rising.  Bob expanded with the privilege of being the first to break the news.

“If you’d come yesterday you’d have seen him.  He went by the noon train,” he said, and proceeded with the story of Prather.

Jack had never heard of the man before and was obviously uninterested.  He did not seem to care if a dozen doubles came to town.

“Oh, yes, there’s another thing concerning you,” Bob continued.  “I was so interested in telling you about Prather that I near forgot it.  A swell-looking fellow—­says he’s a doctor and he’s got New York written all over him—­came in yesterday particularly to see you.”

Though it was a saying in Little Rivers that nobody ever found Jack at a loss, he started perceptibly now.  His fingers worked nervously on the reins and he bit his lips in irritation.

“He was asking a lot of questions about you,” Bob added.

By this time Jack had summoned back his smile.  He did not seem to mind if a dozen doctors came to town at the same time as a dozen doubles.

“Did you tell him that I had a cough—­kuh-er?” he asked, casually.

“Why, no!  I said you could thrash your weight in wildcats and he says, ‘Well, he’ll have to, yet!’ and then shut up as if he’d overspoke himself—­and I judge that he ain’t the kind that does that often.  But say, Jack,” Bob demanded, in the alarm of local partisanship which apprehends that it may unwittingly have served an outside interest, “did you want us to dope it out that you were an invalid?  We ain’t been getting you in wrong, I hope?”

“Not a bit!” answered Jack with a reassuring slap on Bob’s shoulder.  “Was his name Bennington?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Well,” said Jack thoughtfully and with a return of his annoyance, “he will find me at home when he calls.”  And P.D. knew that the reins were still held in listless hands as he turned down the side street toward the new ranch.

Firio was feeling like an astrologer who had lost faith in his crystal ball.  An interrogation had taken the place of his confident “Si, si” of desert understanding of the mind of his patron.  Jack had broken camp with the precipitancy of one who was eager to be quit of the trail and back at the ranch; yet he gave his young trees only a passing glance before entering the house.  He had not wanted coffee on the road, yet coffee served with the crisp odor of bacon accompanying its aroma, after his bath and return to ranch clothes, found no appetite.  He was as a man whose mind cannot hold fast to anything that he is doing.  Firio, restless, worried, his eyes flicking covert glances, was frequently in and out of the living-room on one excuse or another.

“What work to-day?” he asked, as he cleared away the breakfast dishes.  “What has Senor Jack planned for us to do?”

“The work to-day?  The work to-day?” Jack repeated absently.  “First the mail.”  He nodded toward a pile on the table.