He dismounted, glowing from his bath in the icy water of the creek and from the headlong gallop up from Beil Wardle’s corral.

“Good morning, Miss Prudence.”

“Good morning, Mr. Follett.  Will you take breakfast with us directly?”

“Yes, and it can’t be too directly for me.  I’m wolfish.  Miss Prudence, your pa and me had some talk last night, and I’m going to bunk in with you all for awhile, till I get some business fixed up.”

She smiled with unaffected gladness, and he noticed that her fresh morning colour was like that of the little wild roses he had lately brushed the dew from along the creek.

“We shall be glad to have you.”

“It’s right kind of you; I’m proud to hear you say so.”  He had taken off the saddle with its gay coloured Navajo blanket, and the bridle of plaited rawhide with its conchos and its silver bit.  Now he rubbed the back of his horse where the saddle had been, ending with a slap that sent the beast off with head down and glad heels in the air.

“There now, Dandy! don’t bury your ribs too deep under that new grass.”

“My father will be glad to have you and Dandy stay a long time.”

He looked at her quickly, and then away before he spoke.  It was a look that she thought seemed to say more than the words that followed it.

“Well, the fact is, Miss Prudence, I don’t just know how long I’ll have to be in these parts.  I got some particular kind of business that’s lasting longer than I thought it would.  I reckon it’s one of those jobs where you have to let it work itself out while you sit still and watch.  Sometimes you get business on hand that seems to know more about itself than you do.”

“That’s funny.”

“Yes, it’s like when they first sent me out on the range.  They were cutting out steers from a big bunch, and they put me on a little blue roan to hold the cut.  Well, cattle hate to leave the bunch, so those they cut out would start to run back, and I had to head and turn them.  I did it so well I was surprised at myself.  No sooner did a steer head back than I had the spurs in and was after it, and I’d always get it stopped.  I certainly did think I was doing it high, wide, and handsome, like you might say; only once or twice I noticed that the pony stopped short when the steer did without my pulling him up, as if he’d seen the stop before I did.  And then pretty soon after, a yearling that was just the—­excuse me—­that was awful spry at dodging, led me a chase, the pony stopped stiff-legged when the steer did, and while I was leaning one way he was off after the steer the other way so quick that I just naturally slid off.  I watched him head and turn that steer all by himself, and then I learned something.  It seemed like he went to sleep when I got on him.  But after that I didn’t pay any attention to the cattle.  I let him keep the whole lookout, and all I did was to set in the saddle.  He was a wise old cow-pony.