CHAPTER IV
THE UNUSED PLATE
At sundown, when Parker and the cowboys rode in from the northern hills,
the Quarter Circle KT lay under a mantle of sullen, torturing heat. Not
a breath of air fanned the poplars, straight and motionless, in front of
the house. The sun buried itself in a solid wall of black that rose
above the Costejo peaks, hidden now in the shadow of the coming storm.
The horses were dripping with sweat--their coats as glossy and wet as if
they had swum the river. At the corral the animals wearily tossed their
heads, low hung with exhaustion, seeking to shift the sticky clutch of
head-stall or hackamore, while their riders dismounted and quickly
removed saddle and riding gear. Freed from their burdens the bronchos
dragged tired heels through the dust as they whirled and trotted
unsteadily away to the pasture, eager to roll and relax their aching
muscles.
"Holy cats, but it's hot!" Bert Lilly exclaimed as he slipped off his
chaps and started toward the house, leaving saddle and outfit lying
beside the gate of the corral.
"Better put them things in the shed," Parker advised, "looks like a
whale of a storm is coming."
"Reckon that's right," Bert answered, turning back and carrying his
riding gear into the shelter where the other cowboys already had taken
theirs.
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