but sudden and instinctive friendships are not infrequent.  It so happened that John Corliss had taken a liking to the Hobo, Sundown Slim.  Knowing a great deal more about cattle than about psychology, the rancher wasted no time in trying to analyze his feelings.  If the tramp had courage enough to walk another thirty miles across the mesas to get a job cooking, there must be something to him besides legs.  Possibly the cattle-man felt that he was paying a tribute to the memory of his brother.  In any event, he greeted Sundown next morning as the latter came to the water-hole to drink.  “You can’t lose your way,” he said, pointing across the mesa.  “Just keep to the road.  The first ranch on the right is the Concho.  Good luck!” And he led Chinook through the gateway.  In an hour he had topped the hill.  He reined Chinook round.  He saw a tiny figure far to the south.  Half in joke he waved his sombrero.  Sundown, who had glanced back from time to time, saw the salute and answered it with a sweeping gesture of his lean arm.  “And now,” he said, “I got the whole works to meself.  That Concho guy is a mighty fine-lookin’ young fella, but he don’t look like Billy.  Rides that hoss easy-like jest as if he was settin’ in a rockin’-chair knittin’ socks.  But I reckon he could flash up if you stepped on his tail.  I sure ain’t goin’ to.”

It was mid-afternoon, when Sundown, gaunt and weary, arrived at the Concho.  He was faint for lack of food and water.  The Mexican cook, or rather the cook’s assistant, was the only one present when Sundown drifted in, for the Concho was, in the parlance of the riders, “A man’s ranch from chuck to sunup, and never a skirt on the clothes-line.”

Not until evening was Sundown able to make his errand known, and appreciated.  A group of riders swung in in a swirl of dust, dismounted, and, as if by magic, the yard was empty of horses.

The riders disappeared in the bunk-house to wash and make ready for supper.  One of the men, who had spoken to him in passing, reappeared.

“Lookin’ for the boss?” he asked.

“Nope.  I seen him.  I’m lookin’ for Mr. Shoop.”

“All right, pardner.  Saw off the mister and size me up.  I’m him.”

“The boss said I was to be cook,” said Sundown, rather awed by the personality of the bluff foreman.

“Meet him at Antelope?”

“No.  It was the American Hotel.  He said for me to tell you if I walked in I could get a job cookin’.”

“All right.  What he says goes.  Had anything to eat recent?”

“I et a half a rabbit yesterday mornin’.”

“Well, sufferin’ shucks!  You fan it right in here!”

Later that evening, Sundown straggled out to the corral and stood watching the saddle-stock of the Concho pull hay from the long feed-rack and munch lazily.  Suddenly he jerked up his hand and jumped round.  The men, loafing in front of the bunk-house, laughed.  Chance, the great wolf-dog, was critically inspecting the tramp’s legs.