Dell’s eyes moistened at the suggestion of a home.  The two brothers reentered the dug-out, and the men led their horses down to the creek for a drink.  A span of poor old mules stood inside a wooden corral, a rickety wagon and a few rusty farming implements were scattered about, while over all the homestead was the blight of a merciless summer drouth.

“What a pretty little ranch this would make,” said the trail boss to the stranger.  “If these boys had a hundred cows, with this water and range, in a few years they would be independent men.  No wonder that oldest boy is cautious.  Just look around and see the reward of their father’s and their own labor.  Their very home denies them bread.”

“Did you notice the older boy brighten,” inquired the visitor, “when you suggested leaving horses in their care?  It was the only argument that touched him.”

“Then I’ll use it,” said the trail boss, brightening.  “We have several cow horses in our remuda, unfit for saddle,—­galled backs and the like,—­and if these boys would care for them, I’ll make their hungry hearts happy.  Care and attention and a month’s rest would make the ponies as sound as a dollar.  You suggest my giving them each a saddle pony; argue the matter, and try and win me over.”

The men retraced their steps, leading their horses, and when scarcely halfway from the creek to the dug-out, Dell ran down to meet them.  “If you can spare us a few blankets and a pillow,” earnestly said the boy, “we’ll take the wounded man.  He’s liable to be feverish at night, and ought to have a pillow.  Joel and I can sleep outside or in the stable.”

“Hurrah for the Wells boys!” shouted the trail boss.  “Hereafter I’ll bet my money, horse and saddle, on a red-headed boy.  Blankets?  Why, you can have half a dozen, and as to pillows, watch me rob the outfit.  I have a rubber one, there are several moss ones, and I have a lurking suspicion that there are a few genuine goose-hair pillows in the outfit, and you may pick and choose.  They are all yours for the asking.”

The men parleyed around some little time, offering pretexts for entering the shack, the interior of which bespoke its own poverty.  When all agreements had been reviewed, the men mounted their horses, promising to fulfill their part of the covenant that afternoon or evening.

Once out of hearing, the stranger remarked:  “That oldest boy is all right; it was their poverty that caused him to hesitate; he tried to shield their want.  We men don’t always understand boys.  Hereafter, in dealing with Joel, you must use some diplomacy.  The death of his parents has developed a responsibility in the older boy which the younger one doesn’t feel.  That’s about all the difference in the two lads.  You must deal gently with Joel, and never offend him or expose his needs.”

“Trust me,” replied the foreman, “and I’ll coach Quince—­that’s the name of the wounded man.  Within an hour, he’ll be right at home with those boys.  If nothing serious happens to his wound, within a week he’ll have those youngsters walking on clouds.”