“I beg your pardon, Mr. Acton,” said Patches meekly, but with that droll voice which brought a glint of laughter into the foreman’s eyes and called forth another chuckle from the Dean.

“You can take my saddle,” said Phil pointedly.  “It’s over there at the end of the watering trough.  You’ll find the stirrups about right, I reckon—­I ride with them rather long.”

For a moment the stranger looked him straight in the eyes, then without a word started for the saddle.  He was half way to the end of the watering trough when Phil overtook him.

“I believe I’d rather saddle him myself,” the cowboy explained quietly, with his sunny smile.  “You see, I’ve got to teach these horses some cow sense before the fall rodeo, and I’m rather particular about the way they’re handled at the start.”

“Exactly,” returned Patches, “I don’t blame you.  That fellow seems rather to demand careful treatment, doesn’t he?”

Phil laughed.  “Oh, you don’t need to be too particular about his feelings once you’re up in the middle of him,” he retorted.

The big bay, instead of acquiring sense from his observations, as Phil had expressed to the Dean a hope that he would, seemed to have gained courage and determination.  Phil’s approach was the signal for a mad plunge in the young man’s direction, which was checked by the skill and weight of Bob’s trained cow-horse on the rope.  Several times Phil went toward the bay, and every time his advance was met by one of those vicious rushes.  Then Phil mounted Curly’s horse, and from his hand the loop of another riata fell over the bay’s head.  Shortening his rope by coiling it in his rein hand, he maneuvered the trained horse closer and closer to his struggling captive, until, with Bob’s co-operation on the other side of the fighting animal, he could with safety fix the leather blindfold over those wicked eyes.

When at last hackamore and saddle were in place, and the bay stood trembling and sweating, Phil wiped the perspiration from his own forehead and turned to the stranger.

“Your horse is ready, sir.”

The man’s face was perhaps a shade whiter than its usual color, but his eyes were glowing, and there was a grim set look about his smiling lips that made the hearts of those men go out to him.  He seemed to realize so that the joke was on himself, and with it all exhibited such reckless indifference to consequences.  Without an instant’s hesitation he started toward the horse.

“Great Snakes!” muttered Curly to Bob, “talk about nerve!”

The Dean started forward.  “Wait a minute, Mr. Patches,” he said.

The stranger faced him.

“Can you ride that horse?” asked the Dean, pointedly.

“I’m going to,” returned Patches.  “But,” he added with his droll humor, “I can’t say how far.”

“Don’t you know that he’ll kill you if he can?” questioned the Dean curiously, while his eyes twinkled approval.