“But there seems to be a lot of fellows who manage to keep fairly busy doing nothing, just the same, don’t you think?” replied Phil with a low laugh.

“I said man’,” retorted Patches, with emphasis.

“That’s right,” agreed Phil.  “A man just naturally requires a man’s job.”

“And,” mused Patches, “when it’s all said and done, I suppose there’s only one genuine, simon-pure, full-sized man’s job in the world.”

“And I reckon that’s right, too,” returned the cowboy.

CHAPTER VIII.

Concerning Brands.

A few days after Jim Reid’s evening visit to the Dean two cowboys from the Diamond-and-a-Half outfit, on their way to Cherry Creek, stopped at the ranch for dinner.

The well-known, open-handed Baldwin hospitality led many a passing rider thus aside from the main valley road and through the long meadow lane to the Cross-Triangle table.  Always there was good food for man and horse, with a bed for those who came late in the day; and always there was a hearty welcome and talk under the walnut trees with the Dean.  And in all that broad land there was scarce a cowboy who, when riding the range, would not look out for the Dean’s cattle with almost the same interest and care that he gave to the animals bearing the brand of his own employer.

So it was that these riders from the Tonto Flats country told the Dean that in looking over the Cross-Triangle cattle watering at Toohey they had seen several cases of screwworms.

“We doped a couple of the worst, and branded a calf for you,” said “Shorty” Myers.

And his companion, Bert Wilson, added, as though apologizing, “We couldn’t stop any longer because we got to make it over to Wheeler’s before mornin’.”

“Much obliged, boys,” returned the Dean.  Then, with his ever-ready jest, “Sure you put the right brand on that calf?”

“We-all ain’t ridin’ for no Tailholt Mountain outfit this season,” retorted Bert dryly, as they all laughed at the Dean’s question.

And at the cowboy’s words Patches, wondering, saw the laughing faces change and looks of grim significance flash from man to man.

“Anybody seen anything over your way lately?” asked the Dean quietly.

In the moment of silence that followed the visitors looked questioningly from the face of Patches to the Dean and then to Phil.  Phil smiled his endorsement of the stranger, and “Shorty” said, “We found a couple of fresh-branded calves what didn’t seem to have no mothers last week, and Bud Stillwell says some things look kind o’ funny over in the D.1 neighborhood.”

Another significant silence followed.  To Patches, it seemed as the brooding hush that often precedes a storm.  He had not missed those questioning looks of the visitors, and had seen Phil’s smiling endorsement, but he could not, of course, understand.  He could only wonder and wait, for he felt intuitively that he must not speak.  It was as though these strong men who had received him so generously into their lives put him, now, outside their circle, while they considered business of grave moment to themselves.