Evidently the owner of the place was not concealed beneath any of
these things.
Meanwhile the afternoon shadows warned Bartley that a camp with water
and feed was the next thing in order. He strode back to the cabin. There
was no problem to solve, although he thought there was. The yellow dog,
an old campaigner in the open, though young in years, solved his problem
by a suggestion. He was tired. There seemed to be no food in sight. He
philosophically trotted to the open shed opposite the cabin and made a
bed for himself in a pile of gunny-sacks. Bartley grinned. Why not?
Experience had taught Bartley to carry something else, besides a
notebook and pencil, in his saddle-bags. Hence the crackers and can of
corned beef came in handy. The mountain water was cold and refreshing.
There was hay in the burro stable. Moreover, Bartley now had a happy
companion who licked his chops, wagged his tail, and grinned as he
finished a bit of corned beef. Bartley tossed him a cracker. The dog
caught it and it disappeared. This was something like it! Here was a man
who rode a big horse, didn't kick stray dogs, and even shared a meal
with a fellow! Such a man was worth following forever.
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