“Why doesn’t he stay away from the fire if he doesn’t want to drink?” thought Sid.  “Maybe he’s cold.  I wonder if mother—­”

He went to sleep.

Next day they drove the cattle again a long, long way.  At last they came to a town.  There was the railroad, and there were the stock cars.  When the cattle were on board, Dave and Sid jumped on their horses.

“Want to stay in town over night?” asked Dave.  “Like a little change from the hills?”

“Let’s go and get something to eat,” said one of the other men, who rode up.  “I want somethin’ different from ranch cookin’.  Ain’t a first-class cook myself.”

Sid was glad to eat bread that did not have yellow streaks in it.  He was glad to have some meat, too.  But, after eating, the other man said to Dave: 

“Come take a drink.”

They were on the sidewalk, untying their horses.  Sid pulled Dave by the sleeve.

“Don’t,” whispered Sid.

Dave stopped and smiled.

“Come on!” said the other man.

“I don’t get down to town only once in a while,” said Dave.  “Never drink other times, Sid.”

He went with the man.  Sid waited; it seemed to him that he had to wait a long time.

“Round-ups are bad things for Dave,” thought he.  “Mother’d be sorry.”

There was a great noise from the saloon on the corner.  Pretty soon Dave came out.  He looked very white as he came to the place where the boy waited.  Dave leaned against Rix, and groaned.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sid in alarm.

“It’s my arm,” said Dave, growing whiter.  “There was a fight—­in that place—­somehow.  They knocked against me.  I fell.  One man fell on top of me and my arm was sort of doubled up under me.  It hurts—­awful.  I don’t know whether it’s sprained—­or broken—­or—­”

They had to stay in town a week before they could go back to the ranch.  When they went back Dave had his arm in a sling.

“It’s a good thing the twenty-three tons of hay are in,” said Sid.  “You couldn’t do much with that arm.”

Dave did not say anything.

Next Sunday night Sid sat in the door of the shanty on the ranch.  He was singing to himself a little.  “Safely through another week,” he hummed.  His mother always sang that Sundays at home.  Sid was a bit homesick Sundays in the hills.

Dave came and sat down by Sid, and looked out at the sunset and the dry river away down in the valley.  Rix came trotting up near the shanty.

“He’s a smart colt—­ain’t he?” said Sid.  “He hasn’t been bothered with fox-tail since that day you’n and I took that piece out of his eye.  He’s kept his eyes away from the stuff, whether he’s meant to or not.  Do you suppose he has as much sense as that?”

“Critters ain’t the only things that walk into trouble with their eyes open,” said Dave.  “I ain’t goin’ to let Rix be smarter than I be.  I’m goin’ to keep out of trouble, too, Sid.  I ain’t goin’ to drink no more, ever.”