Ess to which his old heart still beat response. As he took

[Truocchio Cusher]

ILLUSTRATIONS
The Cow Puncher . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ These long
rides afforded her many side-lights on the remarkable nature of her
escort. "You aren't talking to-day . . . what's wrong?" "There is
only one answer, Dave. Because I love you." THE COW PUNCHER CHAPTER
ONE The shadows of the spruce trees fell north-eastward, pointing
long, cool fingers
across belts of undulating prairie, or leaning lazily against the
brown foothills. Like
an incandescent globe the afternoon sun hung in the bowl of a
cloudless heaven, filmy with heat, but the hot rays were met by the
high altitude of the ranch country and lost their force like a blow
half struck. And among the spruce trees it was cool
and green, and clear blue water rippled over beds of shining gravel.
The ranch buildings lay a little to the rear, as though the trees
stood sentinel between them and the prairies. The house was of round
straight logs; the
shingles of the squat roof were cupped and blistered with the suns

of many summers. Refuse loitered about the open door; many empty
tins; a leaky barrel, with missing hoops; boxes, harness, tangled
bits of wire. Once there had been a fence; a sort of picket fence of
little saplings, but wild bronchos had kicked it to pieces and range
steers had straggled unscarred across its scattered remnants.
Forward, and
to the left, was the corral; mill slabs on end, or fences of
lodge-pole
pine; a corner somewhat covered in, offering vague protection from
the weather. The upper poles were worn thin with the cribbing of many
horses. The sunlight bathed the scene; nursed it in a soft,
warm silence. The desertion seemed absolute; the silence was the
silence of the unspoken places. But

suddenly it was broken by a stamping in the covered part of the
corral, and a man's voice saying, "Hip, there; whoa,
you cayuse; get under your saddle! Sleepin' against a post all day,
you sloppy-eye. Hip, come to it!" Horse and
rider dashed into the sunlight.
The boy--for he was no more than a boy--sat the beast as though

born to it, his lithe frame taking every motion of his mount as s
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