I'll leave your gun at the gate of that old corral up the wash.

Good-by, Joe!" For a few moments longer the strange man stood in the glade, listening to the vanishing sounds of their going, while that mirthless, self-mocking smile curved his lips.
"Poor devil!" he muttered sadly, as he turned at last to make his way back to his horse.

"Poor Joe! I know just how he feels.

It's hard--it's beastly hard to break away." "I'm afraid I have made trouble for you, sir," Patches said ruefully to the Dean, as he briefly related the incident to his employer and to Phil that afternoon.

"I'm sorry; I really didn't stop to think." "Trouble!" retorted the Dean, his eyes twinkling approval, while Phil laughed joyously.