The tired horses stood in the sun still hitched to the wagon, and Curly, out of pity, made it his first business to hunt under the wagon seat for the picket ropes and halters.

He then began to search for the oats bag, but while so engaged his attention was attracted by something whose nature we, at a distance, could not determine.

With a swift glance into the back of the wagon, and another at the door of the cabin, Curly dropped his Good Samaritan work for Tom Osby's team and came up the street at as fast a gait as any cow puncher can command on foot.

When he reached us his freckled brow was wrinkled in a frown.
"Fellers," said he.

"I didn't think it of him! This here ain't right.
Tom Osby's got a baby in there, and he's squeezin' the life out of it.
Listen! Come on now.