CHAPTER VI 

 Smoke of the H-F Bar 



YES, "Smoke." That was his name. 

 He was only a cow-pony on a 

 western ranch, but he was wise, and, 

 unlike some of his kind, quite an 

 agreeable companion. In fact, I can 

 say in truth we spent many quite happy 

 hours together. He was not specially 

 communicative, and yet many a time 

 when I had dismounted and thrown 

 myself upon the ground to rest and 

 get in touch with all that is revealed 

 from some of the higher Big Horn 

 slopes, he would pause now and then 

 in his grazing by my side to poke his 

 muzzle along the sleeve of my riding 

 coat and look at me with big brown 

 eyes. Just what it was he said to me 



[73] 



