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The herder was submissive and placating, and permitted Happy Jack to appropriate the conventional garb of a male human, the while coffee and bacon were maddening his hunger with their tantalizing odor. He seemed much more at ease, once he saw that Happy Jack, properly clothed, was not particularly fearsome to look upon, and talked volubly while he got out bread and stewed prunes and boiled beans for the thrice-unexpected guest.

Happy Jack, clothed and fed, became himself again and prophesied gloomily: “The chances is, that horse uh mine’ll be forty miles away and still going, by this time; but soon as I can round him up, I’ll bring your pinto back. Yuh needn’t t’ worry none; I guess I got all the sense I’ve ever had.”

Once more astride a horse–albeit the pinto pony of a sheepherder–Happy Jack felt abundantly able to cope with the situation. He made a detour that put him far from where the three he most dreaded to meet were apt to be, and struck out at the pinto’s best pace for the river at the point where he had crossed so disastrously the day before.

Having a good memory for directions and localities, he easily found the place of unhappy memory; and taking up Stranger’s trail through the sand from there, he got the general direction of his flight and followed vengefully after; rode for an hour up a long, grassy coulee, and came suddenly upon the fugitive feeding quietly beside a spring. The bundle of clothing was still tied firmly to the saddle, and at sight of it the face of Happy Jack relaxed somewhat from its gloom.

When Happy rode up and cast a loop over his head Stranger nickered a bit, as if he did not much enjoy freedom while he yet bore the trappings of servitude. And his submission was so instant and voluntary that Happy Jack had not the heart to do as he had threatened many times in the last few hours–“to beat the hide off him.” Instead, he got hastily into his clothes–quite as if he feared they might again be whisked away from him–and then rubbed forgivingly the nose of Stranger, and solicitously pulled a few strands of his forelock from under the brow-band. In the heart of Happy Jack was a great peace, marred only by the physical discomforts of much sun-blister and many deep scratches. After that he got thankfully into his own saddle and rode gladly away, leading the pinto pony behind him. He had got out of the scrape, and the Happy Family would never find it out; it was not likely that they would chance upon the Swede herder, or if they did, that they would exchange with him many words. The Happy Family held itself physically, mentally, morally and socially far above sheepherders–and in that lay the safety of Happy Jack.

It was nearly noon when he reached again the sheep camp, and the Swede hospitably urged him to stay and eat with him; but Happy Jack would not tarry, for he was anxious to reach the camp of the Flying U. A mile from the herder’s camp he saw again on a distant hilltop three familiar figures. This time he did not dodge into shelter, but urged Stranger to a gallop and rode boldly toward them. They greeted him joyfully and at the top of their voices when he came within shouting distance.

“How comes it you’re riding the pinnacles over here?” Weary wanted to know, as soon as he rode alongside.

“Aw, I just came over after more orders; hope they send somebody else over there, if they want any more repping done,” Happy Jack said, in his customary tone of discontent with circumstances.

“Say! Yuh didn’t see anything of a wild man, down next the river, did yuh?” put in Pink.

“Aw, gwan! what wild man?” Happy Jack eyed them suspiciously.

“Honest, there’s a wild man ranging around here in these hills,” Pink declared. “We’ve been mooching around all forenoon, hunting him. Got sight of him, early this morning, but he got away in the brush.”