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 breakfast table to ride forth on his new duties. Barrett knew that he had not made a blunder in this appointment, no matter for the many others which seemed to strew his way on the range like the bones of faminekilled cattle.

Dan announced that his first work would be to take a census of the Diamond Tail cattle, roughly, as such counts are made on the range, yet generally found remarkably exact when it comes to checking them off head by head. This move Barrett applauded. An inventory would be the first thing asked by the other stockholders, and he would gain their confidence by forestalling the request. Barrett shook hands with Dan as he stood by his horse ready to ride away in an importance greater than the simple-hearted, honest lad ever had dreamed of as being his.

The sun was just reddening on the crags and stunted cedars of Eagle Rock canyon when Barrett and Fred set out for the ranch. They rode silently down the dewy, shadowed canyon, where quail whistled in the tall grass, for there were unhappy memories for both of them within the rocky walls. As the canyon broadened, and the place where Barrett had fought the rustler, leaving his body for Fred Grubb to come and cart away, was passed and left behind, the sun struck over the lower rampart and cheered them on their way. Fred Grubb found his tongue.

"I never did have no funeral poertry in me," he sighed.

"Funeral poetry, Fred? We're not going to a funeral."