The Mystery in Arizona

time to tie on a real good feed bag before that there fiesta gets started.”
    “Where are we going to have dinner?” Jane Brown asked. “I forgot to ask Uncle Monty when he was explaining my new job to me.”
    Trixie thought with satisfaction, “So, it’s ‘Uncle Monty’ already.” Jane was wearing a very becoming suit and a perky little hat, and she looked almost pretty.
    “At a right swanky chuck wagon.” Tenny answered her question. “The dining room of the Pioneer Hotel.”
    “That is a swanky place,” Honey put in. “Delicious food, too. I can’t imagine why Mrs. Sherman preferred to eat a cold supper at the ranch. Do you suppose she did it just to be mean? To make Rosita stay and serve the food?”
    “Mrs. Sherman mean?” Tenny demanded. “Why, what’re you-all talkin’ about? Her heart’s as big as a saddle blanket.”
    “You’re crazy,” Trixie said tartly. “She’s just about the most disagreeable person I ever met.”
    Tenny laughed. “Only trouble with her is that she got more than her share when humans was given the power of speech. When she gets goin’, you couldn’t check her with a choke rope and a snubbin’ post. But she don’t mean half o’ what she says.”
    “How did you get to know her so well?” Trixie asked suspiciously. “She didn’t arrive until Saturday, and I gather that she doesn’t like to ride.”
    “She’s a great one for askin’ questions, too,” he went on, just as though Trixie hadn’t said anything. “Jist this mornin' she wanted to know why I always wear a bandanna. I told her a cowboy could hardly get along without his bandanna.
    “When we’re on the range and wash at a water hole, it comes in handy as a towel. If the drinkin’ water is muddy, it gits strained through a bandanna. Makes a mighty good blindfold if the bronc you’re ridin’ has to be blindfolded afore you can put a bridle on him. Serves as a piggin’ string if you come across a calf and don’t happen to have a piggin’ string along with you at the time.”
    “A what?” Di asked.
    “A short piece of rope,” he explained. “Many a calf has had its legs tied together with a bandanna.”
    “But mostly,” Mart put in, “it’s used to protect you from the sun, isn’t it, Tenny? Keep the back of the neck from getting burned, and if you’re riding into the sun, you wear it as a mask to protect the lower part of your face.”
    “Serves as a respirator, too,” Jim added, “when the cattle you’re working kick up a cloud of dust. Right, Tenny?”
    “Right,” the cowboy said. “Guess you all know that if a cowpoke gets hurt, his bandanna can be used as a sling or a tourniquet. But mebbe you didn’t know that in olden times it was used as a sort of signal flag. If a stranger was approachin' you from the distance and you wanted to tell him to scram, you’d wave your bandanna from left to right in a semicircle. And when a cowboy is workin' in a gale, what do you suppose he uses to keep his hat from blowin’ off? And when it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the desert, he wears his bandanna right under his hat to help keep his head cool.”
    “My goodness!” Jane Brown exclaimed. “I always thought you wore those kerchiefs as sort of decorations. I mean, instead of a necktie. And those things you wear on your legs—chaps—they’re just for fun, aren’t they?”
    “I should say not!” Tenny exploded. “They keep our legs from gettin’ scratched by thorny brush and barbed-wire fences. And our cuffs perteck our wrists from sprains and rope bums. You can get a real bad burn from a rope; that’s why we always wear gloves. And our high-heeled boots—there’s nothin’ sissy about ’em. They keep our feet from slippin' through the stirrups. If you get throwed and the hoss runs away, you’re pretty likely to get kilt if a foot is caught in the stirrup. Also, when we’re ropin’ a hoss or a steer on foot, we are able to dig right into the ground with them high heels.”
    They were on the main highway now, speeding toward the center of Tucson. “Here’s somethin' you may not know,” Tenny continued. “A cowboy never lassoes a critter; he ropes it”
    They all began to ask him questions then, but Trixie sat silently, listening attentively. Could this be the same man who had talked to Rosita without a trace of cowboy lingo?
    It wasn’t possible. “There must be another cowboy at the ranch,” Trixie decided, “who looks enough like Tenny to be his