“O bury me not on the lone praire-e-e
  In a narrow grave six foot by three,
  Where the buzzard waits and the wind blows free,
  Then bury me not on the lone praire-e-e.

  Yes, we buried him there on the lone praire-e-e
  Where the owl all night hoots mournfulle-e-e
  And the blizzard beats and the wind blows free
  O’er his lonely grave on the lone praire-e-e.

  And the cowboys now as they roam the plain”——­

“Hey, choke off on that!” growled Purdy as he advanced with rattling spurs.  “Puts me in mind of him—­back there in Big Dry.  ’Spose I ort to buried him, but it don’t make no difference, now.”  He passed a small phial across the bar.  “Fifteen or twenty drops,” he said laconically, and laughed.  “Nothin’ like keepin’ yer eyes an’ ears open.  Doc kicked like a steer first, but he seen I had his hide hung on the fence onless he loosened up.  But he sure wouldn’t weep none at my demise.  If ever I git sick I’ll have some other Doc.  I’d as soon send fer a rattlesnake.”  The man glanced at the clock.  “It’s workin’ ‘long to’ards noon, I’ll jest slip down to the Long Horn an’ stampede the bunch over here.”

CHAPTER IV

CINNABAR JOE

In the dining car of the side-tracked train Alice Marcum’s glance strayed from the face of her table companion to the window.  Another cavalcade of riders had swept into town and with a chorus of wild yells the crowd in the Long Horn surged out to greet them.  A moment later the dismounted ones rushed to their horses, leaped into the saddles and, joined by the newcomers, dashed at top speed for perhaps thirty yards and dismounted to crowd into another saloon across whose front the word HEADQUARTERS was emblazoned in letters of flaming red.

“They’re just like a lot of boys,” exclaimed the girl with a smile, “The idea of anybody mounting a horse to ride that distance!”

“They’re a rough lot, I guess.”  Winthrop Adams Endicott studied his menu card.

“Rough!  Of course they’re rough!  Why shouldn’t they be rough?  Think of the work they do—­rain or shine, riding out there on the plains.  When they get to town they’ve earned the right to play as they want to play!  I’d be rough, too, if I lived the life they live.  And if I were a man I’d be right over there with them this minute.”

“Why be a man?” smiled Endicott.  “You have the Mayor’s own word for the breadth of Wolf River’s ideas.  As for myself, I don’t drink and wouldn’t enjoy that sort of thing.  Besides, if I were over there I would have to forgo——­”

“No pretty little speeches, please.  At least you can spare me that.”

“But, Alice, I mean it, really.  And——­”

“Save ’em for the Cincinnati girls.  They’ll believe ’em.  Who do you think will win this afternoon.  Let’s bet!  I’ll bet you a—­an umbrella against a pair of gloves, that my cavalier of the yellow fur trousers will win the bucking contest, and——­”