the herd to-night before the concert begins to-morrow.
"An' remember, boys, we 're not collecting scalps. Don't shoot to kill until you have to. But when it comes to the real skilletin' there 's no call for anybody to be a perfec' lady. Now, Timberline an' Hank, we 'll just mosey along; we got a pretty piece of ridin' to do before it gets dark."
The others gave the three a silent cheer as they rode single file down the aisle of pine trunks to the gateway of Bear Hole and the adventure that lay beyond.
The sun was just down when the three came to the summit of the Spout's eastern wall, where the topmost granite rung of Original's ladder lay. Below them the Spout already was purple with shadows; they floated like filmy weed on the surface of some unruffled pool. Beyond and behind, the high cone of Cloud's Rest was a beacon of cherry red, and the lower country whence they had come showed faint gold for unbroken miles.
"Boys," said Original, "we 're headed for a bit of trick ridin' like you read about in the fairy books. Give your li'l kiote baits their own bit an' just swing with 'em wherever they
