“You ‘re gettin’ soft in your haid, Bud,” said a cowboy affectionately.

“Mebby, but I don’t have to put cotton in my ears to keep my brains in,” Bailey retorted mildly.

The cowboy who had spoken was suffering from earache and had an ear plugged with cotton.

Pete swaggered up and sat down.  “Who’s ridin’ that blue out there?” he queried, gesturing toward the corral.

“He’s a pet,” said Bailey.  Nobody rides him.”

“Uh-huh.  Well, I reckon the man who tries ’ll be one of ole Abraham’s pets right off soon after,” commented Pete.  “He don’t look good to me.”

“You sabe ’em?” queried Bailey and winked at a companion.

“Nope,” replied Pete.  “I can’t tell a hoss from a hitchin’-rail, ’less he kicks me.”

“Well, Blue Smoke ain’t a hitchin’-rail,” asserted Bailey.  “What do you say if we go over and tell the missis we’re starvin’ to death?”

“Send Pete over,” suggested a cowboy.

Bailey liked a joke.  As he had said, things were dull, just then.  “Lope over and tell my missis we’re settin’ out here starvin’ to death,” he suggested to Pete.

Pete strode to the house and entered, hat in hand.  The foreman’s wife, a plump, cheery woman, liked nothing better than to joke with the men.  Presently Pete came out bearing the half of a large, thick, juicy pie in his hands.  He marched to the bunkhouse and sat down near the men—­but not too near.  He ate pie and said nothing.  When he had finished the pie, he rolled a cigarette and smoked, in huge content.  The cowboys glanced at one another and grinned.

“Well,” said Bailey presently; “what’s the answer?”

Pete grinned.  “Misses Bailey says to tell you fellas to keep on starvin’ to death.  It’ll save cookin’.”

“I move that we get one square before we cross over,” said Bailey, rising.  “Come on, boys.  I can smell twelve o’clock comin’ from the kitchen.”

CHAPTER X

“TURN HIM LOOSE!”

Blue Smoke was one of those unfortunate animals known as an outlaw.  He was a blue roan with a black stripe down his back, a tough, strong pony, with a white-rimmed eye as uncompromising as the muzzle of a cocked gun.  He was of no special use as a cow-pony and was kept about the ranch merely because he happened to belong to the Concho caviayard.  It took a wise horse and two good men to get a saddle on him when some aspiring newcomer intimated that he could ride anything with hair on it.  He was the inevitable test of the new man.  No one as yet had ridden him to a finish; nor was it expected.  The man who could stand a brief ten seconds’ punishment astride of the outlaw was considered a pretty fair rider.  It was customary to time the performance, as one would time a race, but in the instance of riding Blue Smoke the man was timed rather than the horse.  So far, Bailey himself held the record.  He had stayed with the outlaw fifteen seconds.