Finish yore supper, lad. Then come have a talk with me.”

All this while Brite stood gazing down at the youth, changing from curiosity to sympathy and interest. Not once after the first time did the boy look up. There were holes in his battered old black sombrero, through one of which peeped a short curl of red-gold hair. He had shapely brown hands, rather small, but supple and strong. The end of a heavy gun-sheath protruded from his jacket on the left side. He wore overalls, high-top Mexican boots, and huge spurs, all the worse for long service.

Brite went back to his comfortable seat under the pecan tree. From there his second glance at the horse discovered a canvas pack behind the saddle. The old cattleman mused that it was only necessary to get out over this wild, broad Texas range to meet with sad and strange and tragic experiences. How many, many Texas sons were like this youth! The vast range exacted a hard and bloody toll from the pioneers.

Dusk had fallen when the boy came over to present himself before the cattleman.

“My name is Bayne—Reddie Bayne,” he announced, almost shyly.

“Red-haided, eh?”

“Not exactly. But I wasn’t named for my hair. Reddie is my real given name.”

“Wal, no matter. Any handle is good enough in Texas. Did yu ever heah of Liver-eatin’ Kennedy or Dirty-face Jones or Pan Handle Smith?”

“I’ve heahed of the last, shore.”

“Wal, yu’ll see him pronto. He’s ridin’ for me this trip. …Air yu goin’ to accept my offer?”

“I’ll take the job. Yes, sir. Thanks.”

“What wages?”

“Mr. Brite, I’ll ride for my keep.”

“No, I cain’t take yu up on thet. It’s a tough job up the Trail. Say thirty dollars a month?”

“Thet’s more than I ever earned. …When do I begin?”

“Mawnin’ will be time enough, son. Shipman an’ the boys have bunched the hawses for the night.”

“How many haid in yore remuda?”

“Nigh on to two hundred. More’n we need, shore. But they’re all broke an’ won’t give much trouble. Yu see, when we get to Dodge I sell cattle, hawses, wagon, everythin’.”

“I’ve heahed so much aboot this Chisholm Trail. I rode ‘cross country clear from Bendera, hopin’ to catch on with a trail-drive.”

“Wal, yu’ve ketched on, Reddie, an’ I shore hope yu don’t regret it.”

“Gosh! I’m glad. …An’ if I have, I’d better unsaddle Sam.”

Bayne led the black under an adjoining pecan, and slipping saddle, bridle, and pack, turned him loose. Presently the lad returned to sit down in the shadow.

“How many in yore ootfit, Mr. Brite?”

“An even dozen now, countin’ yu.”

“Regular Texas ootfit?”

“Shore.