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Many times when the three were together, and the talk, guided by Kitty, led far from Phil's world, the cowboy would sit a silent listener, until Patches would skillfully turn the current back to the land of Granite Mountain and the life in which Phil had so vital a part. In the home-life at the Cross-Triangle, too, Patches gradually came to hold his own peculiar place.
It was this side, too, that finally made the barefoot, penniless boy the owner of the Cross-Triangle Ranch. I do not know the exact number of the Dean's years I only know that his hair is grey, and that he does not ride as much as he once did. I have heard him say, though, that for thirty-five years he lived in the saddle, and that the Cross-Triangle brand is one of the oldest irons in the State.
The afternoon, was nearly gone, and they were making their way homeward when they saw a Cross-Triangle bull that had evidently been hurt in a fight. The animal was one of the Dean's much-prized Herefords, and the wound needed attention. "We've got to dope that," said Phil, "or the screwworms will be working in it sure."
As the two Cross-Triangle men walked toward their horses, Helen and Stanford heard Phil ask, "But where is that steer, Patches?" "I let him go," returned Patches. "You let him go!" exclaimed the foreman. "After you had him roped and tied? What did you do that for?" Patches was confused. "Really, I don't know." "I'd like to know what you figure we're up here for," said Phil, sharply.
Then the spring rodeo took the men far from the home ranch, and for several weeks the distinguished guest of the Cross-Triangle was left almost wholly to the guardianship of the young woman who lived on the other side of the big meadows. It was the last day of the rodeo, when Phil rode to the home ranch, late in the afternoon, to consult with the Dean about the shipping.
Perhaps he was thinking of that clump of bushes on the mountain side. Joe, loosing his riata from the horse's neck, and coiling it carefully, considered a moment. Then: "You ain't goin' to walk to the Cross-Triangle, be you?" That self-mocking smile touched the man's lips; but there was a hint of decisive purpose in his voice as he answered, "Oh, yes."
It was mid-afternoon when the master of the Cross-Triangle again strolled leisurely out to the corrals. Phil and his helpers, including Little Billy, were just disappearing over the rise of ground beyond the gate on the farther side of the enclosure as the Dean reached the gate that opens toward the barn and house.
"I'll answer your last question first," she returned. "Yes, you can easily reach the Cross-Triangle in time for supper, if you start at once. I will explain the magic as we ride." "You are going to show me the way?" he cried eagerly, starting toward his horse. "I really think it would be best," she said demurely.
There would be time enough to tell Helen when they were together at the ranch. And she was insistent, too, that Patches must not interview her father until she herself had returned home. Phil and his cowboys with the cattle reached the Cross-Triangle corrals the evening before the day set for Kitty and Helen to arrive at the ranch on the other side of the valley meadows.
"What I wanted," chuckled the Dean, "was to see if you had nerve enough to tackle him." "To tell the truth," returned Patches, with a happy laugh, "that's exactly what interested me." But, while the work assigned to Patches during those first days of his stay on the Cross-Triangle was chiefly those odd jobs which called for little or no experience, his higher education was by no means neglected.
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