It was the season of frosty mornings and of languorous, smoke-veiled afternoons, when summer has grown weary of resistance and winter is growing bolder in his advances, and the two have met in a passion-warmed embrace.

Billy had ridden far with his riders and the trailing wagons, in the zest of his young responsibility sweeping the range to its farthest boundary of river or mountain.

They were not through yet, but they had swung back within riding distance of the home ranch and Billy had come in for nearly a month's accumulation of mail and to see how Dill was getting on.
He was tired and dusty and hungry enough to eat the fringes off his chaps.

He came to the ground without any spring to his muscles and walked stiffly to the stable door, leading his horse by the bridle reins.

He meant to turn him loose in the stable, which was likely to be empty, and shut the door upon him until he himself had eaten something.