[Frontispiece: "You!" she exclaimed. "You!"]

SUNDOWN SLIM

BY

HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

ANTON FISCHER

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY HENRY HERBERT KNIBBS

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published May 1915

DEDICATED TO

EVERETT E. HARASZTHY

Contents

Chapter

 ARIZONA I. SUNDOWN IN ANTELOPE II. THE JOKE III. THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO IV. PIE; AND SEPTEMBER MORN V. ON THE CAŅON TRAIL VI. THE BROTHERS VII. FADEAWAY'S HAND VIII. AT "THE LAST CHANCE" IX. SUNDOWN'S FRIEND X. THE STORM XI. CHANCE--CONQUEROR XII. A GIFT XIII. SUNDOWN, VAQUERO XIV. ON THE TRAIL TO THE BLUE XV. THEY KILLED THE BOSS! XVI. SUNDOWN ADVENTURES XVII. THE STRANGER XVIII. THE SHERIFF--AND OTHERS XIX. THE ESCAPE XX. THE WALKING MAN XXI. ON THE MESA XXII. WAIT! XXIII. THE PEACEMAKER XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT XXV. VAMOSE, EH? XXVI. THE INVADERS XXVII. "JUST ME AND HER" XXVIII. IMPROVEMENTS XXIX. A MAN'S COUNTRY

List of Illustrations

"You!" she exclaimed. "You!" . . . " . . . _Frontispiece_

"God A'mighty, sech things is wrong. "

Arizona

Across the wide, sun-swept mesas the steel trail of the railroad runseast and west, diminishing at either end to a shimmering blur ofsilver. South of the railroad these level immensities, rich in theirseason with ripe bunch-grass and grama-grass roll up to the barrier ofthe far blue hills of spruce and pine. The red, ragged shoulders ofbuttes blot the sky-line here and there; wind-worn and grotesquesilhouettes of gigantic fortifications, castles and villages wrought bysome volcanic Cyclops who grew tired of his labors, abandoning hisunfinished task to the weird ravages of wind and weather. 

In the southern hills the swart Apache hunts along historic trails o'erwhich red cavalcades once swept to the plundering of Sonora's herds. His sires and their flashing pintos have vanished to otherhunting-grounds, and he rides the boundaries of his scant heritage, wrapped in sullen imaginings. 

The caņons and the hills of this broad land are of heroic mould as areits men. Sons of the open, deep-chested, tall and straight, they ridelike conquerors and walk--like bears. Slow to anger and quick to act, they carry their strength and health easily and with a dignity which noworn trappings, faded shirt, or flop-brimmed hat may obscure. Speak toone of them and his level gaze will travel to your feet and back againto your eyes. He may not know what you are, but he assuredly knowswhat you are not. He will answer you quietly and to the point. If youhave been fortunate enough to have ridden range, hunted or camped withhim or his kind, ask him, as he stands with thumb in belt and wideStetson tilted back, the trail to heaven. He will smile and pointtoward the mesas and the mountains of his home. Ask him the trail tothat other place with which he so frequently garnishes hisconversation, and he will gravely point to the mesas and the hillsagain. And there you have Arizona. 

SUNDOWN SLIM

CHAPTER I

SUNDOWN IN ANTELOPE

Sundown Slim, who had enjoyed the un-upholstered privacy of a box-caron his journey west from Albuquerque, awakened to realize that hisconveyance was no longer an integral part of the local freight whichhad stopped at the town of Antelope, and which was now rumbling andgrumbling across the Arizona mesas. He was mildly irritated by amanagement that gave its passengers such negligent service. Hecomplained to himself as he rolled and corded his blankets. However, he would disembark and leave the car to those base uses for whichcorporate greed, and a shipper of baled hay, intended it. He wasfurther annoyed to find that the door of the car had been locked sincehe had taken possession. Hearing voices, he hammered on the door. After an exchange of compliments with an unseen rescuer, the door waspushed back and he leaped to the ground. He was a bit surprised tofind, not the usual bucolic agent of a water-plug station, but a beltedand booted rider of the mesas; a cowboy in all the glory of wideStetson, wing chaps, and Mexican spurs. 

"Thought you was the agent. I couldn't see out, " apologized the tramp. 

The cowboy laughed. "He was scared to open her up, so I took a chanct, seein' as I'm agent for the purvention of crulty to Hoboes. "

"Well, you got a fine chance to make a record this evening" saidSundown, estimating with experienced eye the possibilities of Antelopeand its environs. "I et at Albuquerque. "

"Ain't a bad town to eat in, " commented the puncher, gazing at the sky. 

"I never seen one that was, " the tramp offered, experimentally. 

The cowboy grinned. "Well, take a look at this pueblo, then. You cansee her all from here. If the station door was open you could seeclean through to New Mexico. They got about as much use for a Bo inthese parts as they have for raisin' posies. And this ain't no garden. "

"Well, I'm raised. I got me full growth, " said Sundown, straighteninghis elongated frame, --he stood six-feet-four in whatever he could getto stand in, --"and I raised meself. "

"Good thing you stopped when you did, " commented the puncher. "What'syour line?"

"Me line? Well, the Santa Fe, jest now. Next comes cookin'. I beencook in everything from a hotel to a gradin'-camp. I cooked forhigh-collars and swalley-tails, and low-brows and jeans--till it cometime to go. Incondescent to that I been poet select to the T. W. U. "

"Temperance?"

"Not exactly. T. W. U. Is Tie Walkers' Union. I lost me job account ofa long-hair buttin' in and ramblin' round the country spielin'high-toned stuff about 'Art for her own sake'--and such. Me palsselected him animus for poet, seein' as how I just writ thingsnacheral; no high-fluted stuff like him. Why, say, pardner, I believein writin' from the ground up, so folks can understand. Why, thiscountry is sufferin' full of guys tryin' to pull all the G strings outof a harp to onct--when they ought to be practicin' scales on amouth-organ. And it's printed ag'in' 'em in the magazines, rightalong. I read lots of it. But speakin' of eats and _thinkin_' ofeats, did you ever listen to 'Them Saddest Words, '--er--one of me owncompetitions?"

"Not while I was awake. But come on over to 'The Last Chance' andlubricate your works. I don't mind a little po'try on a full stummick. "

"Well, I'm willin', pardner. "

The process of lubrication was brief; and "Have another?" queried thetramp. "I ain't all broke--only I ain't payin' dividen's, bein' hardtimes. "

"Keep your two-bits, " said the puncher. "This is on me. You're goin'to furnish the chaser, Go to it and cinch up them there 'saddest. '"

"Bein' just two-bits this side of bein' a socialist, I guess I'll keepme change. I ain't a drinkin' man--regular, but I never was scared ofeatin'. "

Sundown gazed about the dingy room. Like most poets, he was not averseto an audience, and like most poets he was quite willing that suchaudience should help defray his incidental expenses--indirectly, ofcourse. Prospects were pretty thin just then. Two Mexican herdersloafed at the other end of the bar. They appeared anything butsusceptible to the blandishments of Euterpe. Sundown gazed at theceiling, which was fly-specked and uninspiring, "Turn her loose!" said the puncher, winking at the bartender. 

Sundown folded his long arms and tilted one lean shoulder as thoughdefying the elements to blast him where he stood:--

 "Lives there a gent who has not heard, Before he died, the saddest word?

 "'What word is that?' the maiden cried; 'I'd like to hear it before I died. '

 "'Then come with me, ' her father said, As to the stockyards her he led;

 "Where layin' on the ground so low She seen a tired and weary Bo. 

 "But when he seen her standin' 'round, He riz up from the cold, cold ground. 

 "'Is this a hold-up game?' sez he. And then her pa laughed wickedly. 

 "'This ain't no hold-up!' loud he cried, As he stood beside the fair maiden's side. 

 "'But this here gal of mine ain't heard What you Boes call the saddest word. '

 "'The Bo, who onct had been a gent, Took off his lid and low he bent. 

 "He saw the maiden was fed up good, So her father's wink he understood. 

 "'The saddest word, ' the Bo he spoke, 'Is the dinner-bell, when you are broke. '"

And Sundown paused, gazing ceilingward, that the moral might seepthrough. 

"You're ridin' right to home!" laughed the cow-boy. "You just lightdown and we'll trail over to Chola Charley's and prospect a tub offrijoles. The dinner-bell when you are broke is plumb correct. Gotany more of that po'try broke to ride gentle?"

"Uhuh. Say, how far is it to the next town?"

"Comin' or goin'?"

"Goin'. "

"'Bout seventy-three miles, but there's nothin' doin' there. Worse'nthis. "

"Looks like me for a job, or the next rattler goin' west. Any chanctfor a cook here?"

"Nope. All Mexican cooks. But say, I reckon you _might_ tie up overto the Concho. Hearn tell that Jack Corliss wants a cook. Seems hisole stand-by Hi Wingle's gone to Phoenix on law business. Jack's agood boss to tie to. Worked for him myself. "

"How far to his place?" queried Sundown. 

"Sixty miles, straight south. "

"Gee Gosh! Looks like the towns was scared of each other in this herecountry. Who'd you say raises them frijoles?"

The cowboy laughed and slapped Sundown on the back. "Come on, Bud!You eat with me this trip. "

Western humor, accentuated by alcohol, is apt to broaden rapidly inproportion to the quantity of liquor consumed. After a given quantityhas been consumed--varying with the individual--Western humor broadenswithout regard to proportion of any kind. 

The jovial puncher, having enjoyed Sundown's society to the extent ofsix-bits' worth of Mexican provender, suggested a return to "The LastChance, " where the tramp was solemnly introduced to a newly arrivedcoterie of thirsty riders of the mesas. Gaunt and exceedingly tall, heloomed above the heads of the group in the barroom "like a crane in afrog-waller, " as one cowboy put it. "Which ain't insinooatin' that ourhind legs is good to eat, either, " remarked another. "He keeps righton smilin', " asserted the first speaker. "And takin' his smile, " saidthe other. "Wonder what's his game? He sure is the lonesomest-lookin'cuss this side of that dead pine on Bald Butte, that I ever seen. " Butconviviality was the order of the evening, and the punchers groupedtogether and told and listened to jokes, old and new, talked sagebrushpolitics, and threw dice for the privilege of paying rather thanwinning. "Says he's scoutin' for a job cookin', " remarked a youngcowboy to the main group of riders. "Heard him tell Johnny. "

Meanwhile, Sundown, forgetful of everything save the congeniality ofthe moment, was recounting, to an amused audience of three, hisexperiences as assistant cook in an Eastern hotel. The rest of thehappy and irresponsible punchers gravitated to the far end of the barand proposed that they "have a little fun with the tall guy. " One ofthem drew his gun and stepped quietly behind the tramp. About to fireinto the floor he hesitated, bolstered his gun and tiptoed clumsilyback to his companions. "Got a better scheme, " he whispered. 

Presently Sundown, in the midst of his recital, was startled by a roarof laughter. He turned quickly. The laughter ceased. The cowboy whohad released him from the box-car stated that he must be going, andamid protests and several challenges to have as many "one-mores, " swungout into the night to ride thirty miles to his ranch. Then it was, ashas been said elsewhere and oft, "the plot thickened. "

A rider, leaning against the bar and puffing thoughtfully at a cigar ofelephantine proportions, suddenly took his cigar from his lips, held itpoised, examined it with the eye of a connoisseur--of cattle--andremarked slowly: "Now, why didn't I think of it? Wonder you fellasdidn't think of it. They need a cook bad! Been without a cook for ayear--and everybody fussin' 'round cookin' for himself. "

Sundown caught the word "cook" and turned to, face the speaker. "I waslookin' for a job, meself, " he said, apologetically. "Did you know ofone?"

"You was!" exclaimed the cowboy. "Well, now, that's right queer. Iknow where a cook is needed bad. But say, can you honest-to-Gosh_cook_?"

"I cooked in everything from a hotel to a gradin'-camp. All I want isa chanct. "

The cowboy shook his head. "I don' know. It'll take a pretty good manto hold down this job. "

"Where is the job?" queried Sundown. 

Several of the men grinned, and Sundown, eager to be friendly, grinnedin return. 

"Mebby you _could_ hold it down, " continued the cowboy. "But say, doyou eat your own cookin'?"

"Guess you're joshin' me. " And the tramp's face expresseddisappointment. "I eat my own cookin' when I can't get any better, " headded, cheerfully. 

"Well, it ain't no joke--cookin' for that hotel, " stated the puncher, gazing at the end of his cigar and shaking his head. "Is it, boys?"

"Sure ain't, " they chorused. 

"A man's got to shoot the good chuck to hold the trade, " he continued. 

"Hotel?" queried Sundown. "In this here town?"

"Naw!" exclaimed the puncher. "It's one o' them swell joints out inthe desert. Kind o' what folks East calls a waterin'-place. Eh, boys?"

"That's her!" volleyed the group. 

"Kind o' select-like, " continued the puncher. 

"Sure is!" they chorused. 

"Do you know what the job pays?" asked Sundown. 

"U-m-m-m, let's see. Don't know as I ever heard. But there'll be notrouble about the pay. And you'll have things your own way, if you candeliver the goods. "

"That's right!" concurred a listener. 

Sundown looked upon work of any kind too seriously to suspect that itcould be a subject for jest. He gazed hopefully at their hard, keenfaces. They all seemed interested, even eager that he should findwork. "Well, if it's a job I can hold down, " he said, slowly, "I'llstart for her right now. I ain't afraid to work when I got to. "

"That's the talk, pardner! Well, I'll tell you. You take that road atthe end of the station and follow her south right plumb over the hill. Over the hill you'll see a ranch, 'way on. Keep right on fannin' itand you'll come to a sign that reads 'American Hotel. ' That's her. Good water, fine scenery, quiet-like, and just the kind of a place themtourists is always lookin' for. I stopped there many a time. So hasthe rest of the boys. "

"You was tellin' me it was select-like--" ventured Sundown. 

The men roared. Even Sundown's informant relaxed and grinned. But hebecame grave again, flicked the ashes from his cigar and waved hishand. "It's this way, pardner. That there hotel is run on theAmerican style; if you got the price, you can have anything in thehouse. And tourists kind o' like to see a bunch of punchers settin''round smokin' and talkin' and tellin' yarns. Why, they was a ladyonct--"

"But she went back East, " interrupted a listener. 

"That's the way with them, " said the cowboy. "They're always stickin'their irons on some other fella's stock. Don't you pay no 'tention tothem. "

Sundown shook hands with his informant, crossed to the corner of theroom, and slung his blanket-roll across his back. "Much obliged to youfellas, " he said, his lean, timorous face beaming with gratitude. "Itmakes a guy feel happy when a bunch of strangers does him a good turn. You see I ain't got the chanct to get a job, like you fellas, me bein'a Bo. I had a pal onct--but He crossed over. He was the only one thatever done me a good turn without my askin'. He was a college guy. Iwisht he was here so he could say thanks to you fellas classy-like. I'm feeling them kind of thanks, but I can't say 'em. "

The grins faded from some of the faces. "You ain't goin' to fan itto-night?" asked one. 

"Guess I will. You see, I'm broke, now. I'm used to travelin' any oldtime, and nights ain't bad--believe me. It's mighty hot daytimes inthis here country. How far did you say?"

"Just over the hill--then a piece down the trail. You can't miss it, "said the cowboy who had spoken first. 

"Well, so-long, gents. If I get that job and any of you boys come outto the hotel, I'll sure feed you good. "

An eddy of smoke followed Sundown as he passed through the doorway. Acowboy snickered. The room became silent. 

"Call the poor ramblin' lightnin'-rod back, " suggested a kindly puncher. 

"He'll come back fast enough, " asserted the perpetrator of the "joke. ""It's thirty dry and dusty miles to the water-hole ranch. When he getsa look at how far it is to-morrow mornin' he'll sure back into thefence and come flyin' for Antelope with reins draggin'. Set 'em upagain, Joe. "

CHAPTER II

THE JOKE

Owing to his unaccustomed potations Sundown was perhaps a trifleover-zealous in taking the road at night. He began to realize thisafter he had journeyed along the dim, starlit trail for an hour or soand found no break in the level monotony of the mesa. He peered ahead, hoping to see the blur of a hill against the southern stars. The airwas cool and clear and sweet. He plodded along, happy in the prospectof work. Although he was a physical coward, darkness and the solitudesheld no enemies for him. He felt that the world belonged to him atnight. The moon was his lantern and the stars were his friends. Circumstance and environment had wrought for him a coat of cheerfuleffrontery which passed for hardihood; a coat patched with slang andgaping with inconsistencies, which he put on or off at will. Out onthe starlit mesas he had metaphorically shed his coat. He was at home. Here there were no men to joke about his awkwardness and his ungainlyheight. A wanderer by nature, he looked upon space as his kingdom. Great distances were but the highways of his heritage, each promisingnew vistas, new adventuring. His wayside fires were his altars, theirsmoke the incense to his gods. A true adventurer, albeit timid, hejourneyed not knowing why, but rather because he knew no reason for notjourneying. Wrapped in his vague imaginings he swung along, peeringahead from time to time until at last he saw upon the far background ofthe night a darker something shaped like a tiny mound. "That's her!"he exclaimed, joyously, and quickened his pace. "But Gee Gosh! Iguess them fellas forgot I was afoot. That hill looks turruble faroff. Mebby because it's dark. " The distant hill seemed to keep paceahead of him, sliding away into the southern night as he advanced. Having that stubbornness so frequently associated with timidity, heplodded on, determined to top the hill before morning. "Them fellas asrides don't know how far things are, " he commented. "But, anyhow, thefolks at that hotel will sure know I want the job, walkin' all nightfor it. "

Gradually the outline of the hill became bolder. Sundown estimatedthat he had been traveling several hours, when the going stiffened to aslow grade. Presently the grade became steep and rocky. Thus far theroad had led straight south. Now it swung to the west and skirted thebase of the hill in a gradual ascent. Then it swung back againfollowing a fairly easy slope to the top. His optimism waned as he sawno light ahead. The night grew colder. The stars flickered as thewind of the dawn, whispering over the grasses, touched his face. Hepaused for a moment on the crest of the hill, turned to look back, andthen started down the slope. It was steep and rutted. He had not gonefar when he stumbled and fell. His blanket-roll had pitched ahead ofhim. He fumbled about for it and finally found it. "Them as believesin signs would say it was about time to go to roost, " he remarked, nursing his knee that had been cut on a fragment of ragged tufa. Acoyote wailed. Sundown started up. "Some lonesome. But she sure isone grand old night! Guess I'll turn in. "

He rolled in his blankets. Hardly had he adjusted his length of limbto the unevenness of the ground when he fell asleep. He had cometwenty-five miles across the midnight mesas. Five miles below him washis destination, shrouded by the night, but visioned in his dreams as apalatial summer resort, aglow with lights and eagerly awaiting thecoming of the new cook. 

The dawn, edging its slow way across the mesas, struck palely on thehillside where he slept. A rabbit, huddled beneath a scrub-cedar, hopped to the middle of the road and sat up, staring with moveless eyesat the motionless hump of blanket near the road. In a flash the widemesas were tinged with gold as the smouldering red sun rose, to marchunclouded to the western sea. 

Midway between the town of Antelope and the river Concho is thewater-hole. The land immediately surrounding the water-hole isenclosed with a barb-wire fence. Within the enclosure is a ranch-housepainted white, a scrub-cedar corral, a small stable, and a lean-toshading the water-hole from the desert sun. The place is altogetherneat and habitable. It is rather a surprise to the chance wayfarer tofind the ranch uninhabited. As desolate as a stranded steamer on a mudbank, it stands in the center of several hundred acres of desert, incapable, without irrigation, of producing anything more edible thanlizards and horned toads. Why a homesteader should have chosen tolocate there is a mystery. His reason for abandoning the place isglaringly obvious. Though failure be written in every angle and nookof the homestead, it is the failure of large-hearted enterprise, ofdaring to attempt, of striving to make the desert bloom, and not thefailure of indolence or sloth. 

Western humor like Western topography is apt to be more or less rugged. Between the high gateposts of the yard enclosure there is a great, twelve-foot sign lettered in black. It reads: "American Hotel. " Aband of happy cowboys appropriated the sign when on a visit toAntelope, pressed a Mexican freighter to pack it thirty miles acrossthe desert, and nailed it above the gateway of the water-hole ranch. It is a standing joke among the cattle- and sheep-men of the ConchoValley. 

Sundown sat up and gazed about. The rabbit, startled out of itsordinary resourcefulness, stiffened. The delicate nostrils ceasedtwitching. "Good mornin', little fella! You been travelin' all nighttoo?" And Sundown yawned and stretched. Down the road sped a brownexclamation mark with a white dot at its visible end. "Guess he don'thave to travel nights to get 'most anywhere, " laughed Sundown. Hekicked back his blankets and rose stiffly. The luxury of his yawn wasstifled as he saw below him the ranchhouse with some strange kind of asign above its gate. "If that's the hotel, " he said as he corded hisblankets, "she don't look much bigger than me own. But distances ismighty deceivin' in this here open-face country. " For a moment hestood on the hillside, a gaunt, lonely figure, gazing out across thelimitless mesas. Then he jogged down the grade, whistling. 

As he drew near the ranch his whistling ceased and his expressionchanged to one of quizzical uncertainty. "That's the sign, allright, --'American Hotel, '--but the hotel part ain't livin' up to thesign. But some hotels is like that; mostly front. "

He opened the ranch-house gate and strode to the door. He knockedtimidly. Then he dropped his blanket-roll and stepped to a window. Through the grimy glass he saw an empty, board-walled room, a slant ofsunlight across the floor, and in the sunlight a rusted stove. Hewalked back to the gateway and stood gazing at the sign. He peeredround helplessly. Then a slow grin illumined his face. "Why, " heexclaimed, "it's--it's a joke. Reckon the proprietor must be outhuntin' up trade. And accordin' to that he won't be back direct. "

He wandered about the place like a stray cat in a strange attic, timorous and curious. Ordinarily he would have considered himselffortunate. The house offered shelter and seclusion. There was clearcold water to drink and a stove on which to cook. As he thought of thestove the latitude and longitude of the "joke" dawned upon him withfull significance. He drank at the water-hole and, gathering a fewsticks, built a fire. From his blankets he took a tin can, drew a wadof newspaper from it, and made coffee. Then he cast about forsomething to eat. "Now, if I was a cow--" he began, when he suddenlyremembered the rabbit. "Reckon he's got relations hoppin' around inthem bushes. " He picked up a stick and started for the gate. 

Not far from the ranch he saw a rabbit crouched beneath a clump ofbrush. He flung his stick and missed. The rabbit ran to another bushand stopped. Encouraged by the little animal's nonchalance, he dashedafter it with a wild and startling whoop. The rabbit circled the brushand set off at right angles to his pursuer's course. Sundown made theturn, but it was "on one wheel" so to speak. His foot caught in aprairie-dog hole and he dove headlong with an exclamation that soundedas much like "Whump!" as anything else. He uttered another and lessforced exclamation when he discovered in the tangle of brush that hadbroken his fall, another rabbit that had not survived his suddenvisitation. He picked up the limp, furry shape. "Asleep at theswitch, " he said. "He ain't much bigger than a whisper, but he'sbreakfast. "

Rabbit, fried on a stove-lid, makes a pretty satisfying meal wheneating ceases to be a pleasure and becomes a necessity. Sundown wiselyreserved a portion of his kill for future consumption. 

As the morning grew warmer, he fell asleep in the shade of theranch-house. Late in the afternoon he wakened, went into the house andmade coffee. After the coffee he came out, rolled a cigarette, and satsmoking and gazing out across the afternoon mesas. "I feel it comin', "he said to himself. "And it's a good one, so I guess I'll put her inme book. "

He rummaged in his blankets and unearthed a grimy, tattered notebook. Lubricating the blunt point of a stubby pencil he set to work. When hehad finished, the sun was close to the horizon. He sat back and gazedsideways at his effort. "I'll try her on meself, " he said, drawing uphis leg and resting the notebook against his lean knee. "Wish I couldstand off and listen to meself, " he muttered. "Kind o' get the defectbetter. " Then he read laboriously:--

 "Bo, it's goin' to be hot all right; Sun's a floodin' the eastern range. Mebby it was kind o' cold last night, But there's nothin' like havin' a little change. Money? No. Only jest room for me; Mountings and valleys and plains and such. Ain't I got eyes that was made to see? Ain't I got ears? But they don't hear much: Only a kind of a inside song, Like when the grasshopper quits his sad, And says: 'Rickety-chick! Why, there is nothin' wrong!' And after the coffee, things ain't so bad. "

"Huh! Sounds all right for a starter. Ladies and them as came withyou, I will now spiel the next section. "

 "The wind is makin' my bed for me, Smoothin' the grass where I'm goin' to flop, When the quails roost up in the live-oak tree, And my legs feel like as they want to stop. Pal or no pal, it's about the same, For nobody knows how you feel inside. Hittin' the grit is a lonesome game, -- But quit it? No matter how hard I tried. But mebby I will when that inside song Stops a-buzzin' like bees that's mad, Grumblin' together: 'There's nothin' wrong!' And--after the coffee things ain't so bad. "

"Bees ain't so darned happy, either. They're too busy. Guess it's agood thing I went back to me grasshopper in the last verse. And now, ladies and gents, this is posituvely the last appearance of the notedelectrocutionist, Sundown Slim; so, listen. "

 "Ladies, I've beat it from Los to Maine. And, gents, not knowin' jest what to do, I turned and slippered it back again, Wantin' to see, jest the same as you. Ridin' rods and a-dodgin' flies; Eatin' at times when me luck was good. Spielin' the con to the easy guys, But never jest makin' it understood, Even to me, why that inside song Kep' a-handin' me out the glad, Like the grasshopper singin': 'There's nothin' wrong!' And--after the coffee things ain't so bad. "

Sundown grinned with unalloyed pleasure. His mythical audience seemedto await a few words, so he rose stiffly, and struck an attitudesomewhat akin to that of Henry Irving standing beside a milk-can andcontemplating the village pump. "It gives me great pleasure to informyou"--he hesitated and cleared his throat--"that them there words ofmine was expired by half a rabbit--small--and two cans of coffee. HadI been fed up like youse"--and he bowed grandly--"there's no tellin'what I might 'a' writ. Thankin' you for the box-office receipts, I amyours to demand, Sundown Slim, of Outdoors, Anywhere, till furthernotice. "

Then he marched histrionically to the ranchhouse and made a fire in therusted stove. 

CHAPTER III

THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO

John Corliss rode up to the water-hole, dismounted, and pushed throughthe gate. His horse "Chinook" watched him with gently inquisitiveeyes. Chinook was not accustomed to inattention when he was thirsty. He had covered the thirty miles from the Concho Ranch in five long, dry, and dusty hours. He nickered. "In a minute, " said Corliss. Thenhe knocked at the ranch-house door. Riders of the Concho usuallystrode jingling into the ranch-house without formality. Corliss, however, had been gazing at the lean stovepipe for hours before hefinally decided that there was smoke rising from it. He knocked asecond time. 

"She ain't locked, " came in a rusty, smothered voice. 

Corliss shoved the door open with his knee. The interior was heavywith smoke. Near the stove knelt Sundown trying to encourage the smoketo more perpendicular behavior. He coughed. "She ain't good in herintentions, this here stove. One time she goes and the next time shestays and takes a smoke. Her innards is out of gear. Whew!"

"The damper has slipped down, " said Corliss. 

"Her little ole chest-pertector is kind o' worked down toward herstummick. There, now she feels better a'ready. "

"Cooking chuck?" queried Corliss, glancing round the bare room. 

"Rabbit, " replied Sundown. "When I hit this here hotel I was hungry. I seen a rabbit--not this here one, but the other one. This one wassettin' in a bunch of-brush on me right-of-way. I was behind andrunnin' to make up time. I kind o' seen the leetle prairie-dog give methe red to slow down, but it was too late. Hit his cyclone cellar withme right driver, and got wrecked. This here leetle wad o' cotton wasunder me steam-chest. No other passengers hurt, except the engineer. "

Corliss laughed. "You're a railroad man, I take it. Belong in thiscountry?"

Sundown rose from his knees and backed away from the stove. "Nope. Don't belong anywhere, I guess. My address when I'm to home is SundownSlim, Outdoors, Anywhere, speakin' general. "

"Come in afoot?"

"Uhuh. Kind o' thought I'd get a job. Fellas at Antelope told me theywanted a cook at this hotel. I reckon they do--and some boarders andsomethin' to cook. "

"That's one of their jokes. Pretty stiff joke, sending you in hereafoot. "

"Oh, I ain't sore, mister. They stole me nanny, all right, but I feeljest as good here as anywhere. "

Corliss led Chinook to the water-hole. Sundown followed. 

"Ever think how many kinds of water they was?" queried Sundown. "Someis jest water; then they's some got a taste; then some's jest wet, butthis here is fine! Felt like jumpin' in and drinkin' from the bottomup when I lit here. Where do you live?"

"On the Concho, thirty miles south. "

"Any towns in between?"

Corliss smiled. "No, there isn't a fence or a house from here to theranch. "

"Gee Gosh! Any cows in this country?"

"Yes. The Concho runs ten thousand head on the range. "

"Had your supper?"

"No. I was late getting away from the ranch. Expected to makeAntelope, but I guess I'll bush here to-night. "

"Well, seein' you're the first boarder at me hotel, I'll pass thehash. " And Sundown stepped into the house and returned with the halfrabbit. "I got some coffee, too. I can cook to beat the band when Igot somethin' to cook. Help yourself, pardner. What's mine isanybody's that's hungry. I et the other half. "

"Don't mind if I do. Thanks. Say, you can cook?"

"Next to writin' po'try it's me long suit. "

"Well, I'm no judge of poetry, " said Corliss. "This rabbit tastespretty good. "

"You ain't a cop, be you?" queried Sundown. 

"No. Why?"

"Nothin'. I was jest wonderin'. "

"You have traveled some, I take it. "

"Me? Say! I'm the ramblin' son with the nervous feet. Been round theworld and back again on them same feet, and some freights. Had a palonct. He was a college guy. Run on to him on a cattle-boat. He writpo'try that was the real thing! It's ketchin' and I guess I caught itfrom him. He was a good little pal. "

"What became of him?"

"I dunno, pardner. They was a wreck--but guess I'll get that coffee. "

"How did you cross the Beaver Dam?" inquired Corliss as Sundownreappeared with his can of coffee. 

"So that's what you call that creek back there? Well, it don't need noBeaver hitched on to it to say what I'd call it. I come through lastnight, but I'm dry now. "

The cattle-man proffered Sundown tobacco and papers. They smoked andgazed at the stars. "Said your friend was a college man. What was hisname?" queried Corliss, turning to glance at Sundown. 

"Well, his real name was Billy Corliss, but I called him jest Bill. "

"Corliss! When did you lose track of him?"

"In that wreck, 'bout a year ago. We was ridin' a fast freight goin'west. He said he was goin' home, but he never said where it was. Hita open switch--so they said after--and when they pulled the stitches, and took that plaster dingus off me leg, I starts out huntin' forBilly. Nobody knowed anything about him. Wasn't no signs in thewreck, --so they said. You see I was in that fadeaway joint six weeks. "

"What did he look like?"

"Billy? More like a girl than a man. Slim-like, with blue eyes andkind o' bright, wavy-like hair. He never said nothin' about his folks. He was a awful quiet kid. "

John Corliss studied Sundown's face. "You say he was killed in awreck?"

"I ain't sure. But I reckon he was. It was a bad one. He was ridin'a empty, just ahead of me. Then the whole train buckled up andsomethin' hit me on the lid. That's all I remember, till after. "

"What are you going to do now? Go back to Antelope?"

"Me? Guess I will. I was lookin' for a job cooking but the pay ain'tright here. What you lookin' at me that way for?"

"Sit still. I'm all right. My brother Will left home three years ago. Didn't say a word to any one. He'd been to school East, and he wrotesome things for the magazines--poetry. I was wondering--"

"Say, mister, what's your name?"

"John Corliss. "

"Gee Gosh! I knowed when I et that rabbit this mornin' that somethin'was goin' to happen. Thought it was po'try, but I was mistook. "

"So you ate your half of the rabbit this morning, eh?"

"Sure!!--"

"And you gave me the rest. You sure are loco. "

"Mebby I be. Anyhow, I'm used to bein' hungry. They ain't so much ofme to keep as you--crossways, I mean. Of course, up and down--"

"Well, I'm right sorry, " said Corliss. "You're the queerest Hobo Iever saw. "

"That's what they all say, " said Sundown, grinning. "I ain't no commonhand-out grabber, not me! I learnt things from Bill. He had class!"

"You sure Will never said anything about the Concho, or his brother, orChance?"

"Chance? Who's he?"

"Wolf-dog that belonged to Will. "

"Gee Gosh! Big, and long legs, and kind of long, rough hair, and deepin the chest and--"

"That's Chance; but how did you know?"

"Why, Billy writ a pome 'bout him onct. Sold it and we lived high--fora week. Sure as you live! It was called 'Chance of the Concher. ' GeeGosh! I thought it was jest one of them poetical dogs, like. "

Corliss, who was not given to sentiment, smoked and pondered thepossibility of his brother's whereabouts. He had written to all thelarge cities asking for information from the police as to theprobability of their being able to locate his brother. The answers hadnot been encouraging. At the end of three years he practically gave upmaking inquiry and turned his whole attention to the management of theConcho. There had been trouble between the cattle and sheep interestsand time had passed more swiftly than he had realized. His meetingwith Sundown had awakened the old regret for his brother's uncalled-fordisappearance. Had he been positive that his brother had been killedin the wreck he would have felt a kind of relief. As it was, theuncertainty as to his whereabouts, his welfare, worried and perplexedhim, especially in view of the fact that he was on his way to Antelopeto present to the Forest Service a petition from the cattle-men of thevalley for grazing allotments. The sheep had been destroying thegrazing on the west side of the river. There had been bickerings andfinally an open declaration of war against David Loring, the oldsheep-man of the valley. Corliss wished to avoid friction with DavidLoring. Their ranches were opposite each other. And as Corliss wasknown as level-headed and shrewd, it devolved upon him to present inperson the complaint and petition of his brother cattle-men. Argumentwith David Loring, as he had passed the latter's homestead thatmorning, had delayed him on his journey to Antelope. Presently he gotup and entered the ranch-house. Sundown followed and poked about inthe corners of the room. He found a bundle of gunny-sacks andspreading them on the floor, laid his blankets on them. 

Corliss stepped out and led Chinook to the distant mesa and picketedhim for the night. As he returned, he considered the advisability ofhiring the tramp to cook until his own cook returned from Phoenix. Heentered the house, kicked off his leather chaps, tossed his spurs intoa corner, and made a bed of his saddle-blankets and saddle. "I'll bestarting early, " he said as he drew off his boots. "What are youintending to do next?"

"Me? Well, I ain't got no plans. Beat it back to Antelope, I guess. Say, mister, do you think my pal was your brother?"

"I don't know. From your description I should say so. See here. Idon't know you, but I need a cook. The Concho is thirty miles in. I'mheaded the other way, but if you are game to walk it, I'll see if I canuse you. "

"Me! You ain't givin' me another josh, be you?"

"Never a josh. You won't think so when you get to punchin' dough forfifteen hungry cowboys. Want to try it?"

"Say, mister, I'm just comin' to. A guy told me in Antelope that theywas a John Corliss--only he said Jack--what was needin' a cook. Justthunk of it, seein' as I was thinkin' of Billy most ever since I metyou. Are you the one?"

"Guess I am, " said Corliss, smiling. "It's up to you. "

"Say, mister, that listens like home more'n anything I heard since Iwas a kid. I can sure cook, but I ain't no rider. "

"How long would it take you to foot it to the Concho?"

"Oh, travelin' easy, say 'bout eight hours. "

"Don't see that you need a horse, then, even if there was one handy. "

"Nope. I don't need no horse. All I need is a job. "

"All right. You'd have to travel thirty miles either way--to get outof here. I won't be there, but you can tell my foreman, Bud Shoop, that I sent you in. "

"And I'll jest be tellin' him that 'bout twelve, to-morrow. I surewisht Billy was here. He'd sure be glad to know his ole pal wascookin' for his brother. Me for the shavin's. And say, thanks, pardner. Reckon they ain't all jokers in Arizona. "

"No. There are a few that can't make or take one, " said Corliss. "Hope you'll make the ranch all right. "

"I'm there! Next to cookin' and writin' po'try, walkin' is me longsuit. "

CHAPTER IV

PIE; AND SEPTEMBER MORN

When a Westerner, a native-born son of the outlands, likes a man, helikes him. That is all there is to it. His horses, blankets, money, provender, and even his saddle are at his friend's disposal. If thefriend prove worthy, --and your Westerner is shrewd, --a lifelongfriendship is the result. If the friend prove unworthy, it is well forhim to seek other latitudes, for the average man of the outlands has apeculiar and deep-seated pride which is apt to manifest itself inprompt and vigorous action when touched by ridicule or ingratitude. There are many Davids and Jonathans in the sagebrush country. Davidmay have flocks and herds, and Jonathan may have naught but the care ofthem. David may possess lands and water-rights, and Jonathan nothingmore than a pick, a shovel, a pan, and an incurable itch for placering. A Westerner likes a man for what he is and not because of his vocation. He usually proceeds cautiously in the matter of friendship, but suddenand instinctive friendships are not infrequent. It so happened thatJohn Corliss had taken a liking to the Hobo, Sundown Slim. Knowing agreat deal more about cattle than about psychology, the rancher wastedno time in trying to analyze his feelings. If the tramp had courageenough to walk another thirty miles across the mesas to get a jobcooking, there must be something to him besides legs. Possibly thecattle-man felt that he was paying a tribute to the memory of hisbrother. In any event, he greeted Sundown next morning as the lattercame to the water-hole to drink. "You can't lose your way, " he said, pointing across the mesa. "Just keep to the road. The first ranch onthe right is the Concho. Good luck!" And he led Chinook through thegateway. In an hour he had topped the hill. He reined Chinook round. He saw a tiny figure far to the south. Half in joke he waved hissombrero. Sundown, who had glanced back from time to time, saw thesalute and answered it with a sweeping gesture of his lean arm. "Andnow, " he said, "I got the whole works to meself. That Concho guy is amighty fine-lookin' young fella, but he don't look like Billy. Ridesthat hoss easy-like jest as if he was settin' in a rockin'-chairknittin' socks. But I reckon he could flash up if you stepped on histail. I sure ain't goin' to. "

It was mid-afternoon, when Sundown, gaunt and weary, arrived at theConcho. He was faint for lack of food and water. The Mexican cook, orrather the cook's assistant, was the only one present when Sundowndrifted in, for the Concho was, in the parlance of the riders, "A man'sranch from chuck to sunup, and never a skirt on the clothes-line. "

Not until evening was Sundown able to make his errand known, andappreciated. A group of riders swung in in a swirl of dust, dismounted, and, as if by magic, the yard was empty of horses. 

The riders disappeared in the bunk-house to wash and make ready forsupper. One of the men, who had spoken to him in passing, reappeared. 

"Lookin' for the boss?" he asked. 

"Nope. I seen him. I'm lookin' for Mr. Shoop. "

"All right, pardner. Saw off the mister and size me up. I'm him. "

"The boss said I was to be cook, " said Sundown, rather awed by thepersonality of the bluff foreman. 

"Meet him at Antelope?"

"No. It was the American Hotel. He said for me to tell you if Iwalked in I could get a job cookin'. "

"All right. What he says goes. Had anything to eat recent?"

"I et a half a rabbit yesterday mornin'. "

"Well, sufferin' shucks! You fan it right in here!"

Later that evening, Sundown straggled out to the corral and stoodwatching the saddle-stock of the Concho pull hay from the longfeed-rack and munch lazily. Suddenly he jerked up his hand and jumpedround. The men, loafing in front of the bunk-house, laughed. Chance, the great wolf-dog, was critically inspecting the tramp's legs. 

Sundown was a self-confessed coward, physically. Above all things hefeared dogs. His reception by the men, aside from Bud Shoop'sgreeting, had been cool. Even the friendship of a dog seemedacceptable at that moment. Plodding along the weary miles between thewater-hole and the ranch, he had, in his way, decided to turn over anew leaf: to ignore the insistent call of the road and settle down tosomething worth while. Childishly egotistical, he felt in a vague waythat his virtuous intent was not appreciated, not reasoning that themen knew nothing of his wanderings, nor cared to know anything otherthan as to his ability to cook. So he timidly stroked the long muzzleof the wolf-dog, and was agreeably surprised to find that Chance seemedto like it. In fact, Chance, having an instinct superior to that ofhis men companions of the Concho, recognized in the gaunt and lonelyfigure a kindred spirit; a being that had the wander-fever in itsveins; that was forever searching for the undiscoverable, the somethingjust beyond the visible boundaries of day. The dog, part Russianwolf-hound and part Great Dane, deep-chested, swift and powerful, shookhis shaggy coat and sneezed. Sundown jumped. Again the men laughed. "You and me's built about alike--for speed, " he said, endeavoring toconvey his friendly intent through compliment. "Did you ever ketch arabbit?"

Chance whined. Possibly he understood. In any event, he leapedplayfully against Sundown's chest and stood with his paws on thetramp's shoulders. Sundown shrunk back against the corral bars. "Goto it, " he said, trying to cover his fear with a jest, "if you likebones. "

From behind him came a rush of feet. "Great Scott!" exclaimed Shoop. "Come 'ere, Chance. I sure didn't know he was loose. "

The dog dropped to his feet and wagged his tail inquiringly. 

"Chance--there--he don't cotton to strangers, " explained Shoop, slipping his hand in the wolf-dog's collar. "Did he nip you?"

"Nope. But me and him ain't strangers, mister. You see, I knowed theboss's brother Billy, what passed over in a wreck. He used to ownChance, so the boss says. "

"You knew Billy! But Chance don't know that. I'll chain him up tillhe gets used to seein' you 'round. "

Shoop led the dog to the stable. Sundown felt relieved. Thesolicitude of the foreman, impersonal as it was, made him happier. 

Next morning he was installed as cook. He did fairly well, and the menrode away joking about the new "dough-puncher. "

Then it was that Sundown had an inspiration--not to write verse, but tomanufacture pies. He knew that the great American appetite is keen forpies. Finding plenty of material, --dried apples, dried prunes, andapricots, --he set to work, having in mind former experiences on thevarious "east-sides" of various cities. Determined that his reputationshould rest not alone upon flavor, he borrowed a huge Mexican spur fromhis assistant and immersed it in a pan of boiling water. "And speakin'of locality color, " he murmured, grinning at the possibilities beforehim, "how's that, Johnny?" And he rolled out a thin layer of pie-doughand taking the spur for a "pattern-wheel, " he indented a free-handsketch of the Concho brand on the immaculate dough. Next he wheeledout a rather wobbly cayuse, then an equally wobbly and ferocious cow. Each pie came from the oven with some symbol of the range printed uponit, the general effect being enhanced by the upheaval of the piecrustin the process of baking. When the punchers rode in that evening andentered the messroom, they sniffed knowingly. But not until thepsychological moment did Sundown parade his pies. Then he stepped tothe kitchen and, with the lordly gesture of a Michael Angelo unveilinga statue for the approval of Latin princes, commanded the assistant to"Bring forth them pies. " And they were "brung. "

Each astonished puncher was gravely presented with a wholepie--bubbling kine, dimpled cayuses, and sprawling spurs. Silence--assilence is wont to do in dramatic moments--reigned supreme. Then itwas that the purveyor of spontaneous Western exclamations missed hisopportunity, being elsewhere at the time. 

"Whoop! Let 'er buck!" exclaimed Bud Shoop, swinging an imaginary hatand rocking from side to side. 

"So-o, Boss!" exclaimed a puncher from the Middle West. 

"Hand-made and silver mounted, " remarked another. "Hate to eat 'em. "

"Trade you my pinto for a steer, " offered still another. 

"Nothin" doin'! That hoss of yours has got colic--bad. "

"Swap this here goat for that rooster of yours, " said "Sinker, " a youthwhose early education in art had been neglected. 

"Goat? You box-head! That's a calf. Kind 'a' mired down, but it'ssure a calf. And this ain't no rooster. This here's a eagle settin'on his eggs. You need specs. "

"Noah has sure been herdin' 'em in, " said another puncher. 

Meanwhile, "Noah" stood in the messroom doorway, arms folded and facebeaming. His attitude invited applause, and won it. Eventually hisreputation as a "pie-artist" spread far and wide. When it leaked outthat he had wrought his masterpieces with a spur, there was somemurmuring. Being assured by the assistant that the spur had beenpreviously boiled, the murmuring changed to approval. "That new cookwas sure a original cuss! Stickin' right to the range in hispicture-work. Had them there old Hopi picture-writin's on the rocksbeat a mile. " And the like. 

Inspired by a sense of repletion, conducive to generosity and humor, the boys presented Sundown with a pair of large-rowelled Mexican spurs, silver-mounted and altogether formidable. Like many an historicadventurer, he had won his spurs by a _tour-de-force_ that swept hiscompatriots off their feet; innuendo if you will--but the averagecowboy is capable of assimilating much pie. 

Although Sundown was offered the use of a bunk in the men's quarters, he chose to sleep in a box-stall in the stable, explaining that he wasaccustomed to sleep in all kinds of places, and that the unusedbox-stall with fresh clean straw and blankets would make a verycomfortable bedroom. His reason for declining a place with the menbecame apparent about midnight. 

Bud Shoop had, in a bluff, offhand way, given him a flannel shirt, overalls, an old flop-brimmed Stetson, and, much to Sundown's delight, a pair of old riding-boots. Hitherto, Sundown had been too preoccupiedwith culinary matters to pay much attention to his clothing. Incidentally he was spending not a little time in getting accustomed tohis spurs, which he wore upon all occasions, clinking and clankingabout the cook-room, a veritable Don Quixote of the (kitchen) range. 

The arrival of Corliss, three days after Sundown's advent, had astimulating effect on the new cook. He determined to make the bestappearance possible. 

The myriad Arizona stars burned with darting radiance, in thin, unwavering shafts of splintered fire. The moon, coldly brilliant, sharp-edged and flat like a disk of silver paper, touched the twinklingaspens with a pallid glow and stamped a distorted silhouette of thelow-roofed ranch-buildings on the hard-packed earth. In the corral theshadow of a restless pony drifted back and forth. Chance, chained to apost near the bunk-house, shook himself and sniffed the keen air, forjust at that moment the stable door had opened and a ghostly figureappeared; a figure that shivered in the moonlight. The dog bristledand whined. "S-s-s-h!" whispered Sundown. "It's me, ain't it?"

With his bundle of clothes beneath his arm, he picked a hesitatingcourse across the yard and deposited the bundle beside thewater-trough. Chance, not altogether satisfied with Sundown'sassurance, proclaimed his distrust by a long nerve-reaching howl. Someone in the bunkhouse muttered. Sundown squatted hastily in the shadowof the trough. Bud Shoop rose from his bunk and crept to the door. Hesaw nothing unusual, and was about to return to his bed when anapparition rose slowly from behind the water-trough. The foreman drewback in the shadow of the doorway and watched. 

Sundown's bath was extensive as to territory but brief as to duration. He dried himself with a gunny-sack and slipped shivering into his newraiment. "That there September Morn ain't got nothin' on me exceptlooks, " he spluttered. "And she is welcome to the looks. Shirts andpants for mine!"

Then he crept back to his blankets and slept the sleep of one who hasatoned for his sins of omission and suffered righteously in the ordeal. 

Bud Shoop wanted to laugh, but forgot to do it. Instead he padded backto his bunk and lay awake pondering. "Takin' a bath sure does make afella feel like the fella he wants to feel like--but in thedrinkin'-trough, at night . . . ! I reckon that there Hobo ain't rightin his head. "

Sundown dreamed that he was chasing an elusive rabbit over endlesswastes of sand and greasewood. With him ran a phantom dog, a lean, shaggy shape that raced tirelessly. When Sundown wanted to give up thedream-hunt and rest, the dog would urge him on with whimperings andshort, explosive barks of impatience. Presently the dream-dog ranahead and disappeared beyond a rise. Sundown sank to the desert andslept. He dreamed within his dream that the dog was curled beside him. He put out his hand and stroked the dog's head. Presently a side ofthe box-stall took outline. A ray of sunlight filtered in; sunlightflecked with fine golden dust. The straw rustled at his side and hesat up quickly. Chance, stretching himself and yawning, showed hislong, white fangs in an elaborated dog-smile. "Gee Gosh!" exclaimedSundown, eyeing the dog sideways, "so it's you, eh? You wasn't foolin'me, then, when you said we'd be pals?"

Chance settled down in the straw again and sighed contentedly. 

From the corral came the sound of horses running. The boys werecatching up their ponies for the day's work. Chance pricked his ears. "I guess it's up to me and you to move lively, " said Sundown, stretching and groaning. "We're sleepin' late, account of themmidnight abolitions. "

He rose and limped to the doorway. Chance followed him, evidentlyquite uninterested in the activities outside. Would this queer, ungainly man-thing saddle a horse and ride with the others, or would henow depart on foot, taking the trail to Antelope? Chance knew quite aswell as did the men that something unusual was in the air. Hi Wingle, the cook, had returned unexpectedly that night. Chance had listenedgravely while his master had told Bud Shoop that "the outfit" wouldmove over to Bald Knoll in the morning. Then the dog had barked andcapered about, anticipating a break in the monotony of ranch-life. 

Sundown hurried to the cook-room. Chance at his heels. Hi Wingle wasalready installed in his old quarters, but he greeted Sundown heartily, and set him to work helping. 

After breakfast, Bud Shoop, in heavy wing chaps and trailing his spurs, swaggered up to Sundown. "How you makin' it this mornin'?" heinquired. There was a note of humorous good-fellowship in his voicethat did not escape Sundown. 

"Doin' fine without crutches, " replied Sundown, grinning. 

"Well, you go eat now, and I'll catch up a cayuse for you. We're goin'to fan it for Bald Knoll in about ten minutes. "

"Do I go, too?"

"Sure! Do you think we don't eat pie only onct a year? You bet yougo--helpin' Hi. Boss's orders. "

"Thanks--but I ain't no rider. "

Shoop glanced questioningly at Sundown's legs. "Mebby not. But if Iowned them legs I'd contract to ride white-lightnin' bareback. I'djust curl 'em 'round and grab holt of my feet when they showed up onthe other side. Them ain't legs; them's _cinchas_. "

"Mebby they ain't, " sighed Sundown. "It's the only pair I got, and I'mkind of used to 'em. "

"Did you let Chance loose?" queried the foreman. 

"Me? Nix. But he was sleepin' in the stall with me this mornin'. "

"Heard him goin' on last night. Thought mebby a coyote or a wolf hadstrayed in to get a drink. "

"Get a drink! Can't they get a drink up in them hills?"

"Sure! But they kind of fancy the flavor of the water-trough. Theycome in frequent. But you better fan it for chuck. See you later. "

Sundown hurried through breakfast. He was anxious to hear more aboutthe habits of coyotes and wolves. When he again came to the corral, many of the riders had departed. Shoop stood waiting for John Corliss. 

"You said them wolves and coyotes--" began Sundown. 

"Yes, ding 'em!" interrupted Shoop. "Looks like they come down lastnight. Somethin' 's been monkeyin' with the water. "

"Did you ever see one--at night?" queried Sundown, nervously. 

"See 'em? Why, I shot droves of 'em right from the bunk-house door. Inever miss a chance. Cut loose every time I see one standin' with hisfront paws on the trough. Get 'em every time. "

"Wisht I'd knowed that. "

"So?"

"Uhuh. I'd 'a' borrowed a gun off you and set up and watched for 'emmyself. "

Bud Shoop made a pretense of tightening a cinch on Sundown's pony, thathe might "blush unseen, " as it were. 

Presently Corliss appeared and motioned to Shoop. "How's the new cookdoing?" he asked. 

"Fine!"

Sundown retired modestly to the off-side of the pony. 

"Got a line on him already, " said Shoop. "First thing, Chance, here, took to him. Then, next thing, he manufactures a batch of pies thatain't been matched on the Concho since she was a ranch. Then, nextthing after that, Chance slips his collar and goes and bushes with theBo--sleeps with him till this mornin'. And you can rope me for aparson if that walkin' wish-bone didn't get to ramblin' in his sleeplast night and come out and take a _bath_ in the _drinkin_'-trough!He's got on them clothes I give him, this mornin'. Can you copperthat?"

"Bad dream, Bud. "

"You wait!" said the grinning foreman. "You watch him. Don't pay no'tention to me. "

Corliss smiled. Shoop's many and devious methods of estimatingcharacter had their humorous angles. The rancher appreciated a jokequite as much as did any of his employees, but usually as a spectatorand not a participant. Bud Shoop had served him well and faithfully, tiding over many a threatened quarrel among the men by a humoroussuggestion or a seemingly impersonal anecdote anent disputes ingeneral. So Corliss waited, meanwhile inspecting the ponies in thecorral. He noticed a pinto with a saddle-gall and told Shoop to turnthe horse out on the range. 

"It's one of Fadeaway's string, " said Shoop. 

"I know it. Catch him up. "

Shoop, who felt that his opportunity to confirm his dream-likestatement about Sundown's bathing, was slipping away, suddenly evolveda plan. He knew that the horses had all been watered. "Hey!" hecalled to Sundown, who stood gravely inspecting his own mount. "Comeover here and make this cayuse drink. He won't for me. "

Shoop roped the horse and handed the rope to Sundown, who marched tothe water-trough. The pony sniffed at the water and threw up his head. "I reckoned that was it!" said Shoop. 

"What?" queried Corliss, meanwhile watching Sundown's face. 

"Oh, some dam' coyote's been paddlin' in that trough again. No wonderthe hosses won't drink this mornin'. I don't blame 'em. "

Sundown rolled a frightened eye and tried to look at everything but hiscompanions. Corliss and Shoop exploded simultaneously. Slowly thelight of understanding dawned, rose, and radiated in the dull red ofthe new cook's face. He was hurt and a bit angry. The anticipatingand performing of his midnight ablutions had cost Slim a mightystruggle, mentally and otherwise. 

"If you think it's any early mornin' joke to take a wash-up in thatthere Chinese coffin--why, try her yourself, about midnight. " Then headdressed Shoop singly. "If I was _you_, and you got kind ofabsent-minded and done likewise, and I seen _you_, do you think I'd gosnitch to the boss? Nix, for it might set him to worryin'. "

Shoop accepted the compliment good-naturedly, for he knew he had earnedit. He swaggered up to Sundown and slapped him on the back. "Cheerup, pardner, and listen to the good news. I'm goin' to have thattrough made three foot longer so it'll be more comfortable. "

"Thanks, but never again at night. Guess if I hadn't been feelin'all-to-Gosh happy at havin' a home and a job, I'd 'a' froze stiff. "

CHAPTER V

ON THE CAŅON TRAIL

The Loring homestead, a group of low-roofed adobe buildings blendingwith the abrupt red background of the hill which sheltered it from thewinter winds, was a settlement in itself, providing shelter and comfortfor the wives and children of the herders. Each home maintained asmall garden of flowers and vegetables. Across the somber brown of the'dobe walls hung strings of chiles drying in the sun. Gay blossoms, neatly kept garden rows, red ollas hanging in the shade of cypress andacacia, the rose-bordered plaza on which fronted the house of thepatron, the gigantic windmill purring lazily and turning now to theright, now to the left, to meet the varying breeze, the entire prospectwas in its pastoral quietude a reflection of Seņora Loring's sweet andplacid nature. Innuendo might include the windmill, and justly so, forthe Seņora in truth met the varying breeze of circumstance andinvariably turned it to good uses, cooling the hot temper of the patronwith a flow of soft Spanish utterances, and enriching the simple livesof the little colony with a charity as free and unvarying as the flowof the clear, cool water. 

Far to the east, where the mesas sloped gently to the hills, grazed thesheep, some twenty bands of a thousand each, and each band guarded andcared for by a herder and an assistant who cooked and at timesjourneyed with the lazy burros to and from the hacienda for suppliesand provisions. 

David Loring, erstwhile plainsman and scout, had drifted in the earlydays from New Mexico to Arizona with his small band of sheep, andsettled in the valley of the Concho. He had been tolerated by thecattle-men, as his flock was but a speck on the limitless mesas. Ashis holdings increased, the ranchers awakened to the fact that he hadcome to stay and that some boundary must be established to protecttheir grazing. The Concho River was chosen as the dividing line, whichwould have been well enough had Loring been a party to the agreement. But he declined to recognize any boundary. The cattle-men felt thatthey had given him fair warning in naming the Concho as the line ofdemarcation. He, in turn, considered that his right to graze his sheepon any part or all of the free range had not been circumscribed. 

His neighbor--if cattle-men and sheep-men may under any circumstancesbe termed neighbors--was John Corliss. The Corliss rancho was justacross the river opposite the Loring homestead. After the death oftheir parents the Corliss boys, John and his younger brother Will, hadbeen constant visitors at the sheep-man's home, both of them enjoyingthe vivacious companionship of Eleanor Loring, and each, in his way, inlove with the girl. Eventually the younger brother disappeared withoutany apparent reason. Then it was that John Corliss's visits to theLoring rancho became less frequent and the friendliness which hadexisted between the rival ranches became a kind of tolerantacquaintanceship, as that of neighbors who have nothing in common savethe back fence. 

Fernando, the oldest herder in Loring's employ, stood shading his eyesfrom the glare of noon as he gazed toward the distant rancho. His sonwas with the flock and the old man had just risen from preparing thenoon meal. "The Seņorita, " he murmured, and his swart features werelighted by a wrinkled smile. He stepped to his tent, whipped a gaybandanna from his blankets and knotted it about his lean throat. Thenhe took off his hat, gazing at it speculatively. It was beyondreconstruction as to definite shape, so he tossed it to the ground, ranhis fingers through his silver-streaked hair, and stepped out to awaithis Seņorita's arrival. 

The sunlight flashed on silver spur and bit as the black-and-whitepinto "Challenge" swept across the mesa toward the sheep-camp. Intothe camp he flung, fretting at the curb and pivoting. His rider, Eleanor Loring, about to dismount, spoke to him sharply. Still hecontinued to pivot uneasily. "Morning, Fernando! Challenge is fussythis morning. I'll be right back!" And she disciplined Challenge withbit and spur, wheeling him and loping him away from the camp. Down thetrail she checked him and brought him around on his hind feet. Backthey came, with a rush. Fernando's deep-set eyes glowed withadmiration as the girl "set-up" the pinto and swung to the ground witha laugh. "Made him do it all over again, si. He is the big baby, buthe pretends he is bronco. Don't you, Challenge?" She dropped thereins and rubbed his nose. The pony laid back his ears in simulatedanger and nipped at her sleeve. "Straighten your ears up, pronto!" shecommanded, nevertheless laughing. Then a strain of her father's bloodwas apparent as she seized the reins and stood back from the horse. "Because you're bluffing this morning, I'm going to make you do yourlatest trick. Down!" she commanded. The pony extended his foreleg andbegged to shake hands. "No! Down!" With a grunt the horse dropped tohis knees, rolled to his side, but still kept his head raised. "Cleardown! Dead, Challenge!" The horse lay with extended neck, butswitched his tail significantly. "Don't you dare roll!" she said, ashe gave evidence of getting up. Then, at her gesture, he heavedhimself to his feet and shook himself till the stirrups clattered. Thegirl dropped the reins and turned to the old herder. "I taught himthat, Fernando. I didn't make him do it just to show off. Heunderstands now, and he'll behave. "

Old Fernando grinned. "He always have the good manner, being alwayswith the Seņorita, " he said bowing. 

"Thanks, Fernando. You always say something nice. But I can't let youget ahead of me. What a pretty scarf. It's just right. Do you wearit always, Fernando?"

"It is--I know--what the vaquero of the Concho call the 'josh' that yougive me, but I am yet not too old to like it. It is muy pleasure, si!to be noticed when one is old--by the Seņorita of especial. "

The girl's dark eyes flashed and she laughed happily. "It's lots offun, isn't it--to 'josh'? But I came to see if you needed anything. "

"Nothing while still the Seņorita is at thees camp. "

"Well, you'd better think up something, for I'm going in a minute. Have to make the rounds. Dad is down with the rheumatism and as crossas a grizzly. I was glad to get away. And then, there's Madre. "

Fernando smiled and nodded. He was not unfamiliar with the patron'stemper when rheumatism obliged him to be inactive. "He say nothing, the patron--that we cross the sheep to the west of the river, Seņorita?"

"No. Not lately. I don't know why he should want to. The feed isgood here. "

"I have this morning talk with the vaquero Corlees. He tell me thatthe South Fork is dry up. "

"John Corliss is not usually interested in our sheep, " said the girl. 

"No. Of the sheep he knows nothing. " And the old herder smiled. "Butmany times he look out there, " he added, pointing toward the Loringrancho. 

"He was afraid father would catch him talking to one of the herders, "laughed the girl. 

"The vaquero Corlees he afraid of not even the bear, I think, Seņorita. "

Eleanor Loring laughed. "Don't you let father catch you calling him abear!" she cautioned, provoking the old herder to immediate apology anda picturesque explanation of the fact that he had referred not to thepatron, but the grizzly. 

"All right, Fernando. I'll not forget to tell the patron that youcalled him a bear. "

The old herder grinned and waved farewell as she mounted and rode downthe trail. Practical in everyday affairs, he untied his bandanna andneatly folded and replaced it among his effects. As he came out of thetent he picked up his hat. He was no longer the cavalier, but astoop-shouldered, shriveled little Mexican herder. He slouched outtoward the flock and called his son to dinner. No, it was not so manyyears--was not the Seņorita but twenty years old?--since he had wooedthe Seņora Loring, then a slim dark girl of the people, his people, butnow the wealthy Seņora, wife of his patron. Ah, yes! It was good thatshe should have the comfortable home and the beautiful daughter. Hehad nothing but his beloved sheep, but did they not belong to hisSeņorita?

At the ford the girl took the trail to the uplands, deciding to visitthe farthest camp first, and then, if she had time, to call at one ortwo other camps on her way back to the rancho. As the trail grewsteeper, she curbed the impatient Challenge to a steadier pace and rodeleisurely to the level of the timber. On the park-like level, clean-swept between the boles of the great pines, she again putChallenge to a lope until she came to the edge on the upper mesa. Thenshe drew up suddenly and held the horse in. 

Far out on the mesa was the figure of a man, on foot. Toward him camea horse without bridle or saddle. She recognized the figure as that ofJohn Corliss, and she wondered why he was on foot and evidently tryingto coax a stray horse toward him. Presently she saw Corliss reach outslowly and give the horse something from his hand. Still she waspuzzled, and urging Challenge forward, drew nearer. The stray, seeingher horse, pricked up its ears, swung round stiffly, and galloped off. Corliss turned and held up his hand, palm toward her. It was their oldgreeting; a greeting that they had exchanged as boy and girl longbefore David Loring had become recognized as a power to be reckonedwith in the Concho Valley. 

"Peace?" she queried, smiling, as she rode up. 

"Why not, Nell?"

"Oh, cattle and sheep, I suppose. There's no other reason, is there?"

Corliss was silent, thinking of his brother Will. 

"Unless--Will--" she said, reading his thought. 

He shook his head, "That would be no reason for--for our quarreling, would it?"

She laughed. "Why, who has quarreled? I'm sure I haven't. "

"But you don't seem the same--since Will left. "

"Neither do you, John. You haven't called at the rancho for--well, about a year. "

"And then I was told to stay away even longer than that. "

"Oh, you mustn't mind Dad. He growls--but he won't bite. "

Corliss glanced up at her. His steady gray eyes were smiling, but hislips were grave. "Would it make any difference if I did come?"

The girl's dark face flushed and her eyes sparkled. "Lots! Perhapsyou and Dad could agree to stop growling altogether. But we won't talkabout it. I'd like to know what you are doing up here afoot?"

"Wouldn't tell you for a dollar, " he replied, smiling. "My horse isover there--near the timber. The rest of the band are at thewaterhole. "

"Oh, but you will tell me!" she said. "And before we get back to thecaņon. "

"I wasn't headed that way--" he began; but she interrupted quickly. 

"Of course. I'm not, either. " Then she glanced at him with mischiefscintillating in her dark eyes. "Fernando told me you were talkingwith him this morning. I don't see that it has done you much good. "

His perplexity was apparent in his silence. 

"Fernando is--is polite, " she asserted, wheeling her horse. 

Corliss stood gazing at her unsmilingly. "I want to be, " he saidpresently. 

"Oh, John! I--you always take things so seriously. I was just'joshing' you, as Fernando says. Of course you do! Won't you shakehands?"

He strode forward. The girl drew off her gauntlet and extended herhand. "Let's begin over again, " she said as he shook hands with her. "We've both been acting. "

Before she was aware of his intent, he bowed his head and kissed herfingers. She drew her hand away with a little cry of surprise. Shewas pleased, yet he mistook her expression. 

He flushed and, confused, drew back. "I--I didn't mean it, " he said, as though apologizing for his gallantry. 

The girl's eyes dilated for an instant. Then she laughed with all thejoyous _abandon_ of youth and absolute health. "You get worse andworse, " she said, teasingly. "Do go and have another talk withFernando, John. Then come and tell me all about it. "

Despite her teasing, Corliss was beginning to enjoy the play. As arule undemonstrative, he was when moved capable of intense feeling, andthe girl knew it. She saw a light in his eyes that she recognized; alight that she remembered well, for once when they were boy and girltogether she had dared him to kiss her, and had not been disappointed. 

"You are cross this morning, " she said, making as though to go. 

"Well, I've begun over again, Nell. You wait till I get Chinook andwe'll ride home together. "

"Oh, but I'm--you're not going that way, " she mocked. 

"Yes, I am--and so are you. If you won't wait, I'll catch you up, anyway. You daren't put Challenge down the caņon trail faster than awalk. "

"I daren't? Then, catch me!"

She wheeled her pony and sped toward the timber. Corliss, runningheavily in his high-heeled boots, caught up his own horse and leaped tothe saddle as Chinook broke into a run. The young rancher knew thatthe girl would do her best to beat him to the caņon level. He fearedfor her safety on the ragged trail below them. 

Chinook swung down the trail taking the turns without slackening hisspeed and Corliss, leaning in on the curves, dodged the sweepingbranches. 

Arrived at the far edge of the timber, he could see the girl ahead ofhim, urging Challenge down the rain-gutted trail at a lope. As shepulled up at an abrupt turn, she waved to him. He accepted thechallenge and, despite his better judgment, set spurs to Chinook. 

Round the next turn he reined up and leaped from his horse. Below himhe saw Challenge, riderless, and galloping along the edge of thehillside. On the trail lay Eleanor Loring, her black hair vividagainst the gray of the shale. He plunged toward her and stoopingcaught her up in his arms. "Nell! Nell!" he cried, smoothing back herhair from her forehead. "God, Nell! I--I didn't mean it. "

Her eyelids quivered. Then she gasped. He could feel her trembling. Presently her eyes opened and a faint smile touched her white lips. "I'm all right. Challenge fell--and I jumped clear. Struck my head. Don't look at me like that! I'm not going to die. "

"I'm--I'm mighty glad, Nell!" he said, helping her to a seat on therock against which she had fallen. 

Her hands were busy with her hair. He found her hat and handed it toher. "If my head wasn't just splitting, I'd like to laugh. You arethe funniest man alive! I couldn't speak, but I heard you call to meand tell me you didn't mean it! Then you say you are mighty glad I'malive. Doesn't that sound funny enough to bring a person to lifeagain?"

"No, it's not funny. It was a close call. "

She glanced at his grave, white face. "Guess you were scared, John. Ididn't know you could be scared at anything. Jack Corliss as white asa sheet and trembling like a--a girl!"

"On account of a girl, " said Corliss, smiling a little. 

"Now, _that_ sounds better. What were you doing up on the mesa thisafternoon?"

"I took some lump-sugar up for my old pony, Apache. He likes it. "

"Well, I'll never forget it!" she exclaimed. "How the boys would laughif they heard _you'd_ been feeding sugar to an old broken-downcow-pony! You! Why, I feel better already. "

"I'm right glad you do, Nell. But you needn't say anything about thesugar. I kind of like the old hoss. Will you promise?"

"I don't know. Oh, my head!" She went white and leaned against him. He put his arm around her, and her head lay back against his shoulder. "I'll be all right--in a minute, " she murmured. 

He bent above her, his eyes burning. Slowly he drew her close andkissed her lips. Her eyelids quivered and lifted. "Nell!" hewhispered. 

"Did you mean it?" she murmured, smiling wanly. 

He drew his head back and gazed at her up-turned face. "I'm allright, " she said, and drew herself up beside him. "Serves me right forputting Challenge down the trail so fast. "

As they rode homeward Corliss told her of the advent of Sundown andwhat the latter had said about the wreck and the final disappearance ofhis "pal, " Will Corliss. 

The girl heard him silently and had nothing to say until they parted atthe ford. Then she turned to him. "I don't believe Will was killed. I can't say why, but if he had been killed I think I should have knownit. Don't ask me to explain, John. I have always expected that hewould come back. I have been thinking about him lately. "

"I can't understand it, " said Corliss. "Will always had what hewanted. He owns a half-interest in the Concho. I can't do as I wantto, sometimes. My hands are tied, for if I made a bad move and lostout, I'd be sinking Will's money with mine. "

"I wouldn't make any bad moves if I were you, " said the girl, glancingat the rancher's grave face. 

"Business is business, Nell. We needn't begin that old argument. Only, understand this: I'll play square just as long as the other sideplays square. There's going to be trouble before long and you knowwhy. It won't begin on the west side of the Concho. "

"Good-bye, John, " said the girl, reining her pony around. 

He raised his hat. Then he wheeled Chinook and loped toward the ranch. 

Eleanor Loring, riding slowly, thought of what he had said. "He won'tgive in an inch, " she said aloud. "Will would have given up the cattlebusiness, or anything else, to please me. " Then she reasoned withherself, knowing that Will Corliss had given up all interest in theConcho, not to please her but to hurt her, for the night before hisdisappearance he had asked her to marry him and she had very sensiblyrefused, telling him frankly that she liked him, but that until he hadsettled down to something worth while she had no other answer for him. 

She was thinking of Will when she rode in to the rancho and turned herhorse over to Miguel. Suddenly she flushed, remembering John Corliss'seyes as he had held her in his arms. 

CHAPTER VI

THE BROTHERS

As Corliss rode up to the ranch gate he took the mail from the littlewooden mail-box and stuffed it into his pocket with the exception of aletter which bore the postmark of Antelope and his address in afamiliar handwriting. He tore the envelope open hastily and glanced atthe signature, "Will. "

Then he read the letter. It told of his brother's unexpected arrivalin Antelope, penniless and sick. Corliss was not altogether surprisedexcept in regard to the intuition of Eleanor, which puzzled him, comingas it had so immediately preceding the letter. 

He rode to the rancho and ordered one of the men to have the buckboardat the gate early next morning. He wondered why his brother had notdriven out to the ranch, being well known in Antelope and able tocommand credit. Then he thought of Eleanor, and surmised that hisbrother possibly wished to avoid meeting her. And as it happened, hewas not mistaken. 

On the evening of the following day he drove up to the Palace Hotel andinquired for his brother. The proprietor drew him to one side. "It'sall right for you to see him, John, but I been tryin' to keep him inhis room. He's--well, he ain't just feelin' right to be on the street. Sabe?"

Corliss nodded, and turning, climbed the stairs. He knocked at a door. There was no response. He knocked again. 

"What you want?" came in a muffled voice. 

"It's John, " said Corliss. "Let me in. "

The door opened, and Corliss stepped into the room to confront a dismalscene. On the washstand stood several empty whiskey bottles and murkyglasses. The bedding was half on the floor, and standing with handbraced against the wall was Will Corliss, ragged, unshaven, and visiblytrembling. His eyelids were red and swollen. His face was white savefor the spots that burned on his emaciated cheeks. 

"John!" he exclaimed, and extended his hand. 

Corliss shook hands with him and then motioned him to a chair. "Well, Will, if you're sick, this isn't the way to get over it. "

"Brother's keeper, eh? Glad to see me back, eh, Jack?"

"Not in this shape. What do you suppose Nell would think?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm sick. That's all. "

"Where have you been--for the last three years?"

"A whole lot you care. Been? I have been everywhere from heaven tohell--the whole route. I'm in hell just now. "

"You look it. Will, what can I do for you? You want to quit the boozeand straighten up. You're killing yourself. "

"Maybe I don't know it! Say, Jack, I want some dough. I'm broke. "

"All right. How much?"

"A couple of hundred--for a starter. "

"What are you going to do with it?"

"What do you suppose? Not going to eat it. "

"No. And you're not going to drink it, either. I'll see that you haveeverything you need. You're of age and can do as you like. But you'renot going to kill yourself with whiskey. "

Will Corliss stared at his brother; then laughed. 

"Have one with me, Jack. You didn't used to be afraid of it. "

"I'm not now, but I'm not going to take a drink with you. "

"Sorry. Well, here's looking. " And the brother poured himself ahalf-tumblerful of whiskey and gulped it down. "Now, let's talkbusiness. "

Corliss smiled despite his disgust. "All right. You talk and I'lllisten. "

The brother slouched to the bed and sat down. "How's the Concho beenmaking it?" he asked. 

"We've been doing pretty fair. I've been busy. "

"How's old man Loring?"

"About the same. "

"Nell gone into mourning?"

Corliss frowned and straightened his shoulders. 

"See here, Will, you said you'd talk business. I'm waiting. "

"Touched you that time, eh? Well, you can have Nell and be damned. NoMexican blood for mine. "

"If you weren't down and out--" began Corliss; then checked himself. "Go ahead. What do you want?"

"I told you--money. "

"And I told you--no. "

The younger man started up. "Think because I'm edged up that I don'tknow what's mine? You've been piling it up for three years and I'vebeen hitting the road. Now I've come to get what belongs to me and I'mgoing to get it!"

"All right, Will. But don't forget that I was made guardian of yourinterest in the Concho until you got old enough to be responsible. Thewill reads, until you come of age, providing you had settled down andshowed that you could take care of yourself. Father didn't leave hismoney to either of us to be drunk up, or wasted. "

"Prodigal son, eh, Jack? Well, I'm it. What's the use of getting soreat me? All I want is a couple of hundred and I'll get out of this townmighty quick. It's the deadest burg I've struck yet. "

John Corliss gazed at his brother, thinking of the bright-faced, blue-eyed lad that had ridden the mesas and the hills with him. He wastouched by the other's miserable condition, and even more grieved torealize that this condition was but the outcome of a rapid lowering ofthe other's moral and physical well-being. He strode to him and satbeside him. "Will, I'll give anything I have to help you. You knowthat. Anything! You're so changed that it just makes me sick torealize it. You needn't have got where you are. I would have helpedyou out any time. Why didn't you write to me?"

"Write? And have you tell Nell Loring how your good little brother waswhining for help? She would have enjoyed that--after what she handedme. "

"I don't know what she said to you, " said Corliss, glancing at hisbrother. "But I know this: she didn't say anything that wasn't so. Ifthat's the reason you left home, it was a mighty poor one. You'vealways had your own way, Will. "

"Why shouldn't I? Who's got anything to say about it? You seem tothink that I always need looking after--you and Nell Loring. I canlook after myself. "

"Doesn't look like it, " said Corliss, gesturing toward the washstand. "Had anything to eat to-day?"

"No, and I don't want anything. "

"Well, wash up and we'll go and get some clothes and something to eat. I'll wait. "

"You needn't. Just give me a check--and I won't bother you after that. "

"No. I said wash up! Get busy now!"

The younger man demurred, but finally did as he was told. They wentdownstairs and out to the street. In an hour they returned, WillCorliss looking somewhat like his former self in respectable raiment. "John, " he said as they entered the room again, "you've always been agood old stand-by, ever since we were kids. I guess I got in bad thistime, but I'm going to quit. I don't want to go back to theConcho--you know why. If you'll give me some dough I'll take care ofmyself. Just forget what I said about my share of the money. "

"Wait till morning, " said Corliss. "I'll take the room next, here, andif you get to feeling bad, call me. "

"All right, Jack. I'll cut it out. Maybe I will go back to theConcho; I don't know. "

"Wish you would, Will. You'll get on your feet. There's plenty to doand we're short-handed. Think it over. "

"Does--Nell--ever say anything?" queried the brother. 

"She talks about you often. Yesterday we were talking about you. Itold her what Sundown said about--"

"Sundown?"

"Forgot about him. He drifted in a few months ago. I met up with himat the water-hole ranch. He was broke and looking for work. Gave hima job cooking, and he made good. He told me that he used to have a palnamed Will Corliss--"

"And Sundown's at the Concho! I never told him where I lived. "

"He came into Antelope on a freight. Got side-tracked and had to stay. He didn't know this used to be your country till I told him. "

"Well, that beats me, Jack! Say, Sun was just an uncle to me when wewere on the road. We made it clear around, freights, cattle-boats, andafoot. I didn't hit the booze then. Funny thing: he used to hit it, and I kind of weaned him. Now it's me. . . "

"He's straight, all right, " said Corliss. "He 'tends right tobusiness. The boys like him. "

"Everybody liked him, " asserted Will Corliss. "But he is the queerestHobo that ever hit the grit. "

"Some queer, at that. It's after nine now, Will. You get to bed. Iwant to see Banks a minute. I'll be back soon. "

When John Corliss had left the room, something intangible went withhim. Will felt his moral stamina crumbling. He waited until he heardhis brother leave the hotel. Then he went downstairs and returned witha bottle of whiskey. He drank, hid the bottle, and went to bed. Heknew that without the whiskey he would have been unable to sleep. 

The brothers had breakfast together next morning. After breakfastCorliss went for the team and returned to the hotel, hoping to inducehis brother to come home with him. Will Corliss, however, pleadedweariness, and said that he would stay at the Palace until he feltbetter. 

"All right, Will. I'll leave some cash with Banks. He'll give youwhat you need as you want it. "

"Banks? The sheriff?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, all right. Suppose you think I'm not to be trusted. "

"No. But we'll leave it that way till I see you again. Write in ifyou need me--and take care of yourself. When you get ready to settledown, I'll turn over your share of the Concho to you. So long, Will. "

Will Corliss watched his brother drive away. When the team haddisappeared up the road he walked down the street to the sheriff'soffice. The sheriff greeted him cordially. 

"I came for that money, Jim. "

"Sure! Here you are, " and the sheriff handed him a five-dollargold-piece. 

"Quit kidding and come across, " said Corliss, ignoring the significanceof the allowance. 

"Can't, Will. John said to give you five any time you wanted it, butonly five a day. "

"He did, eh? John's getting mighty close in his old age, ain't he?"

"Mebby. I don't know. "

"How much did he leave for me?"

"Five a day, as I said. "

"Oh, you go to hell!"

The sheriff smiled pleasantly. "Nope, Billy! I'm goin' to stay rightto home. Have a cigar?"

The young man refused the proffered cigar, picked up the gold-piece andstrolled out. 

The sheriff leaned back in his chair. "Well if Billy feels that waytoward folks, reckon he won't get far with John, or anybody else. Toodinged bad. He used to be a good kid. "

CHAPTER VII

FADEAWAY'S HAND

Fadeaway, one of the Concho riders, urged his cayuse through the ford, reined short, and turned to watch Chance, who accompanied him. The dogdrew back from the edge of the stream and bunching himself, shot up andover the muddy water, nor did the jump break his stride as he leaped toovertake the rider, who had spurred out of his way. Fadeaway cursedjoyously and put his pony to a lope. Stride for stride Chance ranbeside him. The cowboy, swaying easily, turned and looked down uponthe dog. Chance was enjoying himself. "Wonder how fast the cuss _can_run?" And Fadeaway swung his quirt. The stride quickened to therhythmic beat of the cow-horse at top speed. The dog kept abreastwithout apparent effort. A half-mile beyond the ford the paceslackened as the pony took the hill across which the trail led to theopen mesas. As they topped the rise Fadeaway again urged his cayuse toa run, for the puncher had enjoyed the hospitality of his companions of"The Blue, " a distant cattle ranch, a day longer than had been set forhis return to the Concho. Just then a startled jack rabbit leaped upand bounced down the trail ahead of them. Fadeaway jerked his horse toa stop. "Now we'll see some real speed!" he said. There was a flashof the dog's long body, which grew smaller and smaller in the distance;then a puff of dust spurted up. Fadeaway saw the dog turn end overend, regain his feet and toss something in the air. 

"The fastest dog in Arizona, " remarked the cowboy. "And you, youglass-eyed son of a mistake, you're about as fast as a fence-post!"This to his patient and willing pony, that again swung into a run andran steadily despite his fatigue, for he feared the instant slash ofthe quirt should he slacken pace. 

Round a bend in the trail, where an arm of the distant forest ran outinto the mesa. Fadeaway again set his horse up viciously. Chancestopped and looked up at the rider. The cowboy pointed through thethin rim of timber beyond which a herd of sheep was grazing. "Take'em!" he whispered. Chance hesitated, not because he was unfamiliarwith sheep, but because he had been punished for chasing and worryingthem. "Go to it! Take 'em, Chance!"

The dog slunk through the timber and disappeared. The cowboy rodeslowly, peering through the timber. Presently came the trample offrightened sheep--a shrill bleating, and then silence. Fadeaway lopedout into the open. The sheep were running in all directions. Hewhistled the dog to him. Chance's muzzle dripped red. The dog slunkround behind the horse, knowing that he had done wrong, despite thefact that he had been set upon the sheep. 

From the edge of the timber some one shouted. The cowboy turned andsaw a herder running toward him. He reined around and sat waitinggrimly. When the herder was within speaking distance. Fadeaway's handdropped to his hip and the herder stopped. He gesticulated and spokerapidly in Spanish. Fadeaway answered, but in a kind of Spanish nottaught in schools or heard in indoor conversation. 

The herder pressed forward. "Why, how! Fernando. Now what's bitin'you?"

"The sheep! He kill the lamb!" cried the herder. 

Fadeaway laughed. "Did, eh? Well, I tried to call him off. Reckonyou heard me whistle him, didn't you?"

The cowboy's assertion was so palpably an insult that old Fernando'sanger overcame his caution. He stepped forward threateningly. Fadeaway's gun was out and a splash of dust leaped up at Fernando'sfeet. The herder turned and ran. Fadeaway laughed and swung away at alope. 

When he arrived at the Concho he unsaddled, turned his pony into thecorral, and called to Chance. He was at the water-trough washing thedog's muzzle when John Corliss appeared. Fadeaway straightened up. Heknew what was coming and knew that he deserved it. The effects of hisconviviality at the Blue had worn off, leaving him in an ugly mood. 

Corliss looked him over from head to heel. Then he glanced at the dog. Chance turned his head down and sideways, avoiding his master's eye. Fadeaway laughed. 

"You get your time!" said Corliss. 

"You're dam' right!" retorted Fadeaway. 

"And you're damned wrong! Chance knows better than to tackle sheepunless he's put up to it. You needn't explain. Bud will give you yourtime. "

Then Corliss turned to Shoop who had just ridden in. 

"Chain that dog up and keep him chained up! And give Fadeaway histime, right up to the minute!"

Shoop dropped easily from the saddle, led his horse toward the corral, and whistled a sprightly ditty as he unsaddled him. 

Fadeaway rolled a cigarette and strolled over to the bunk-house wherehe retailed his visit and its climax to a group of interested punchers. 

"So he tied the can onto you, eh? And for settin' Chance on the sheep?He ought to be much obliged to you, Fade. They ain't room for sheepand cattle both on this here range. We're gettin' backed plumb intothe sunset. "

Fadeaway nodded to the puncher who had spoken. 

"And ole man Loring's just run in twenty thousand head from New Mex. , "continued the puncher. "Wonder how Corliss likes that?"

"Don' know--and dam' 'f I care. If a guy can't have a little sportwithout gettin' fired for it, why, that guy don't work for the Concho. The Blue's good enough for me and I can get a job ridin' for the Blueany time I want to cinch up. "

"Well, Fade, I reckon you better cinch up pronto, then, " said Shoop whohad just entered. "Here's your time. Jack's some sore, believe me!"

"Sore, eh? Well, before he gets through with me he'll be sorer. Youcan tell him for me. "

"'Course I _can_--but I ain't goin' to. And I wouldn't if I was you. No use showin' your hand so early in the game. " And Shoop laughed. 

"Well, she's full--six aces, " said Fadeaway, touching his holstersignificantly. 

"And Jack throws the fastest gun on the Concho, " said Shoop, his genialsmile gone; his face flushed. "I been your friend, if I do say it, Fade. But don't you go away with any little ole idea that I ain'tworkin' for Jack Corliss. "

"What's that to me? I'm fired, ain't I?"

"Correct. Only I was thinkin' your cayuse is all in. You couldn't getout of sight on him tonight. But you can take one of my string andsend it back when you get ready. "

"Oh, I ain't sweatin' to hit the trail, " said Fadeaway, for the benefitof his audience. 

"All right, Fade. But the boss is. It's up to you. "

After he had eaten, Fadeaway rolled his few belongings in his slickerand tied it to the saddle. He was not afraid of Corliss, but like menof his stamp he wanted Corliss to know that he was not alone unafraid, but willing to be aggressive. He mounted and rode up to theranch-house. Corliss, who had seen him approach through the window, sat at his desk, waiting for the cow-boy to dismount and come in. ButFadeaway sat his horse, determined to make the rancher come outside. 

Corliss understood, and pushing back his chair, strode to the doorway. "Want to see me?" he asked. 

Fadeaway noticed that Corliss was unarmed, and he twisted thecircumstance to suit a false interpretation of the fact. "Playin'safe!" he sneered. 

Corliss flushed and the veins swelled on his neck, but he kept silent. He looked the cowboy in the eye and was met by a gaze as steady as hisown; an aggressive and insolent gaze that had for its backing sheerphysical courage and nothing more. It became a battle of mentalendurance and Corliss eventually won. 

After the lapse of several seconds, the cowboy spoke to his horse. "Come on, Doc! The son-of-a----- is loco. "

Corliss heard, but held his peace. He stood watching the cowboy untilthe latter was out on the road. He noticed that he took the northernbranch, toward Antelope. Then the rancher entered the house, picked uphis hat, buckled on his gun, and hastened to the corral. He saddledChinook and took the trail to the Loring rancho. 

He rode slowly, trying to arrive at the best method of presenting hisside of the sheep-killing to Loring. He hoped that Eleanor Loringwould not be present during the interview with her father. He wasdisappointed, for she came from the wide veranda as he rode up andgreeted him. 

"Won't you come in?" she asked. 

"I guess not. I'd like to see your father. "

She knew that her father had forbidden Corliss the house, and, indeed, the premises. She wondered what urgency brought him to the rancho. "I'll call him, then. "

Corliss answered the grave questioning in her eyes briefly. "Thesheep, " he said. 

"Oh!" She turned and stepped to the veranda. "Dad, John is here. "

David Loring came to the doorway and stood blinking at Corliss. He didnot speak. 

"Mr. Loring, one of my men set Chance on a band of your sheep. Myforeman tells me that Chance killed a lamb. I want to pay for it. "

Loring had expected something of the kind. "Mighty proud of it, Ireckon?"

"No, I'm not proud of it. I apologize--for the Concho. "

"You say it easy. "

"No, it isn't easy to say--to you. I'll pay the damage. How much?"

"Your dog, eh? Well, if you'll shoot the dam' dog the lamb won't costyou a cent. "

"No, I won't shoot the dog. He was put up to it. I fired the man thatset him on to the sheep. "

"That's your business. But that don't square you with me. "

"I'll settle, if you'll fix the price, " said Corliss. 

"You will, eh? Then, mebby you'd think you was square with ole manLoring and come foolin' around here like that tramp brother of yours. Fine doin's in Antelope, from what I hear. "

"Dad!" exclaimed the girl, stepping to her father. "Dad!"

"You go in the house, Nellie! We'll settle this. "

Corliss dismounted and strode up to Loring. "If you weren't an old manI'd give you the licking of your life! I've offered to settle with youand I've apologized. You don't belong in a white man's country. "

"I got a pup that barks jest like that--and he's afraid of his ownbark, " said Loring. 

"Have it your way. I'm through. " And Corliss stepped to his horse. 

"Well, I ain't!" cried Loring. "I'm jest startin' in! You bettercrawl your cayuse and eat the wind for home, Mr. Concho Jack! Andlemme tell you this: they's twenty thousand head of my sheep goin' tocross the Concho, and the first puncher that runs any of my sheep isgoin' to finish in smoke!"

"All right, Loring. Glad you put me on to your scheme. I don't wanttrouble with you, but if you're set on having trouble, you can find it. "

The old man straightened and shook his fist at the rancher. "Fust timeyou ever talked like a man in your life. Nex' thing is to see if yougot sand enough to back it up. There's the gate. "

Corliss mounted and wheeled his horse. The girl, who stood beside herfather, started forward as though to speak to the rancher. Loringseized her arm. Her face flamed and she turned on her father. "Dad!Let me go!"

He shrunk beneath her steady gaze. He released her arm and she steppedup to Corliss. "I'm sorry, John, " she said, and offered her hand. 

"You heard it all, Nell. I'd do anything to save you all this, if Icould. "

"Anything?"

"Yes. "

"Well, try and get Will--to--stop drinking. He--I heard all about it. I can't do anything to help. You ought to look after him. He's yourbrother. He's telling folks in Antelope that you refused to help him. Is that so?"

"I refused to give him two hundred dollars to blow in if that's whatyou mean. "

"Did you quarrel with Will?"

"No. I asked him to come home. I knew he wouldn't. "

"Yes. And I think I know how you went at it. I wish I could talk tohim. "

"I wish you would. You can do more with him than anybody. "

Loring strode toward Corliss. The girl turned to her father. Heraised his arm and pointed toward the road. "You git!" he said. Shereached up and patted his grizzled cheek. Then she clung to him, sobbing. 

CHAPTER VIII

AT "THE LAST CHANCE"

The afternoon following the day of his discharge from the Concho, Fadeaway rode into Antelope, tied his pony to the hitching-rail infront of "The Last Chance, " and entered the saloon. Several men loafedat the bar. The cowboy, known as "a good spender when flush, " was madewelcome. He said nothing about being out of employment, craftilyanticipating the possibility of having to ask for credit later, as hehad but a half-month's pay with him. He was discussing the probabilityof early rains with a companion when Will Corliss entered the place. 

Fadeaway greeted him with loud, counterfeit heartiness, and they dranktogether. Their talk centered on the Concho. Gradually they drew awayfrom the group at the bar. Finally Corliss mentioned his brother. Fadeaway at once became taciturn. 

Corliss noticed this and questioned the puncher. "Had a row withJack?" he asked. 

"Between you and me, I did. He fired me, couple of days ago. "

"Full?"

"Nope. Chance killed one of Loring's sheep. John hung it onto me, seein' Chance was with me. Guess John's gettin' religion. "

Corliss laughed, and his lips twisted to a sneer. "Guess he is. Itried to touch him for two hundred of my own money and he turned medown. Maybe I like it. "

"Turned you down, eh! That's what I call nerve! And you been awaythree year and more. Reckon, by the way the Concho is makin' good, yougot more'n two hundred comin'. She's half yours, ain't she?"

"Yes. And I'm going to get my share. He told me I could have ajob--that he was short-handed. What do you think of that! And I ownhalf the Concho! I guess I'd like to ride range with a lot of--well, you understand, Fade. I never liked the Concho and I never will. Let's have another. No. This is on me. "

Again they drank and Corliss became more talkative. He posed as onewronged by society in general and his brother especially. 

As his talk grew louder, Fadeaway cautioned him. "Easy, Billy. No useadvertisin'. Come on over here. " And Fadeaway gestured toward one ofthe tables in the rear of the room. 

Corliss was about to retort to the other's apparently good-naturedinterference with his right to free speech, when he caught Fadeaway'sglance. "Well?" he exclaimed. 

The cowboy evidently had something to say in confidence. Corlissfollowed him to one of the tables. 

"It's this way, " began the cowboy. "You're sore at Jack. Now Jack'sgot friends here and it won't help you any to let 'em know you're soreat him. I ain't feelin' like kissin' him myself--right now. But Iain't advertisin' it. What you want to do is--"

"What's that got to do with me?" interrupted Corliss. 

Fadeaway laughed. "Nothin'--if you like. Only there's been doin'ssince you lit out. " And he paused to let the inference sink in. 

"You mean--?"

"Look here, Billy. I been your friend ever since you was a kid. Andseein' you're kind of out of luck makes me sore--when I think what'syours by rights. Mebby I'm ridin' over the line some to say it, butfrom what I seen since you been gone, Jack ain't goin' to cry any ifyou never come back. Old man Loring ain't goin' to live more'n athousand years. Mebby Jack don't jest love him--but Jack ain't beenlosin' any time since you been gone. "

Corliss flushed. "I suppose I don't know that! But he hasn't seen thelast of me yet. "

"If I had what's comin' to you, you bet I wouldn't work on nocattle-ranch, either. I'd sure hire a law-shark and find out where Igot off. "

Fadeaway's suggestion had its intended effect. The younger man knewthat an appeal to the law would be futile so long as he chose to ignorethat clause in the will which covered the contingency he wasillustrating by his conduct. Fadeaway again cautioned him as he becameloud in his invective against his brother. The cowboy, while posing asfriend and adviser, was in reality working out a subtle plan of hisown, a plan of which Corliss had not the slightest inkling. 

"And the Concho's makin' good, " said Fadeaway, helping himself to adrink. He shoved the bottle toward Corliss. "Take a little'Forget-it, ' Billy. That's her! Here's to what's yours!" They dranktogether. The cowboy rolled a cigarette, tilted back his chair, andpuffed thoughtfully. "Yes, she's makin' good. Why, Bud is gettin' ahundred and twenty-five, now. Old Hi Wingle's drawin' downeighty--Jack's payin' the best wages in this country. Must of cleanedup four or five thousand last year. And here you're settin', broke. "

"Well, you needn't rub it in, " said Corliss, frowning. 

Fadeaway grinned. "I ain't, Billy. I'm out of a job myself: andnothin' comin'--like you. "

Corliss felt that there was something in his companion's easy driftthat had not as yet come to the surface. Fadeaway's hard-lined facewas unreadable. The cowboy saw a question in the other's eyes andcleverly ignored it. Since meeting the brother he had arrived at aplan to revenge himself on John Corliss and he intended that thebrother should take the initiative. 

He got up and proffered his hand. "So long, Billy. If you ever need afriend, you know where to find him. "

"Hold on, Fade. What's your rush?"

"Got to see a fella. Mebby I'll drop in later. "

Corliss rose. 

Fadeaway leaned across the table. "I'm broke, and you're broke. TheConcho pays off Monday, next week. The boys got three monthscomin'--close to eighteen hundred--and gold. "

"Gold? Thought John paid by check?"

"He's tryin' to keep the boys from cashin' in, here. Things are goin'to be lively between Loring and the Concho before long. Jack needs allthe hands he's got. "

"But I don't see what that's got to do with it, Fade. "

"Nothing 'ceptin' I'm game to stand by a pal--any time. "

"You mean--?"

"Jest a josh, Billy. I was only thinkin' what _could_ be pulled off bya couple of wise ones. So-long!"

And the cowboy departed wondering just how far his covert suggestionhad carried with Will Corliss. As for Will Corliss, Fadeaway carednothing whatever. Nor did he intend to risk getting caught with ashare of the money in his possession, provided his plan was carried toa conclusion. He anticipated that John Corliss would be away from theranch frequently, owing to the threatened encroachment of Loring'ssheep on the west side of the Concho River. Tony, the Mexican, wouldbe left in charge of the ranch. Will Corliss knew the combination ofthe safe--of that Fadeaway was pretty certain. Should they get themoney, people in the valley would most naturally suspect the brother. And Fadeaway reasoned that John Corliss would take no steps to recoverthe money should suspicion point to his brother having stolen it. Meanwhile he would wait. 

Shortly after Fadeaway had gone out, Will Corliss got up and saunteredto the street. He gazed up and down the straggling length of Antelopeand cursed. Then he walked across to the sheriff's office. 

The sheriff motioned him to a chair, which he declined. "Better sitdown, Billy. I want to talk to you. "

"Haven't got time, " said Corliss. "You know what I came for. "

"That's just what I want to talk about. See here, Billy, you've beenhitting it up pretty steady this week. Here's the prospect. John toldme to hand you five a day for a week. You got clothes, grub, and aplace to sleep and all paid for. You could go out to the ranch if youwanted to. The week is up and you're goin' it just the same. If youwant any more money you'll have to see John. I give you all he leftwith me. "

"By God, that's the limit!" exclaimed Corliss. 

"I guess it is, Billy. Have a cigar?"

Corliss flung out of the office and tramped across to the saloon. Hecalled for whiskey and, seating himself at one of the tables, dranksteadily. Fadeaway wasn't such a fool, after all. But robbery! Wasit robbery? Eighteen hundred dollars would mean San Francisco . . . Corliss closed his eyes. Out of the red mist of remembrance a girl'sface appeared. The heavy-lidded eyes and vivid lips smiled. Thenother faces, and the sound of music and laughter. He nodded to themand raised his glass. . . . As the raw whiskey touched his lips thered mist swirled away. The dingy interior of the saloon, the bootedand belted riders, the grimy floor littered with cigarette-ends, thehanging oil-lamp with its blackened chimney, flashed up and spreadbefore him like the speeding film of a picture, stationary upon thescreen of his vision, yet trembling toward a change of scene. A blurappeared in the doorway. In the nightmare of his intoxication hewelcomed the change. Why didn't some one say something or dosomething? And the figure that had appeared, why should it pause andspeak to one of the men at the bar, and not come at once to him. Theywere laughing. He grew silently furious. Why should they laugh andtalk and keep him waiting? He knew who had come in. Of course heknew! Did Fadeaway think to hide himself behind the man at the bar?Then Fadeaway should not wear chaps with silver conchas that glitteredand gleamed as he shifted his leg and turned his back. "Said he was myfriend, " mumbled Corliss. "My friend! Huh!" Was it a friend thatwould leave him sitting there, alone?

He rose and lurched to the bar. Some one steadied him as he swayed. He stiffened and struck the man in the face. He felt himself jerkedbackward and the shock cleared his vision. Opposite him two men heldFadeaway, whose mouth was bleeding. The puncher was struggling to getat his gun. 

Corliss laughed. "Got you that time, you thief!"

"He's crazy drunk, " said one of the men. "Don't get het up, Fade. Heain't packin' a gun. "

Fadeaway cursed and wiped the blood from his mouth. He was playing hispart well. Accident had helped him. To all intents and purposes theywere open enemies. 

Still, he was afraid Corliss would talk, so he laughed and extended hishand. "Shake, Billy. I guess you didn't know what you were doin'. Iwas tryin' to keep you from fallin'. "

Corliss stared at the other with unwinking eyes. 

Fadeaway laughed and turned toward the bar. "Ought to hand him one, but he's all in now, I reckon. That's what a fella gets for mixin' upwith kids. Set 'em up, Joe. "

Left to himself Corliss stared about stupidly. Then he started for thedoorway. 

As he passed Fadeaway, the latter turned and seized his arm. "Come onup and forget it, Billy. You and me's friends, ain't we?"

The cowboy, by sheer force of his personality, dominated the nowrepentant Corliss, whose stubbornness had given way to tearfulretraction and reiterated apology. Of course they were friends!

They drank and Fadeaway noticed the other's increasing pallor. "Jestabout one more and he'll take a sleep, " soliloquized the cowboy. "Inthe mornin' 's when I ketch him, raw, sore, and ready for anything. "

One of the cowboys helped Corliss to his room at the Palace. LaterFadeaway entered the hotel, asked for a room, and clumped upstairs. Herose early and knocked at Corliss's door, then entered without waitingfor a response. 

He wakened Corliss, who sat up and stared at him stupidly. "Mornin', Billy. How's the head?"

"I don't know yet. Got any cash, Fade? I'm broke. "

"Sure. What you want?"

Corliss made a gesture, at which the other laughed. "All right, pardner. I'll fan it for the medicine. "

When he returned to the room, Corliss was up and dressed. Contrary toFadeaway's expectations, the other was apparently himself, although alittle too bright and active to be normal. 

"Guess I got noisy last night, " said Corliss, glancing at Fadeaway'sswollen lip. 

"Forget it! Have some of this. Then I got to fan it. "

"Where are you going?"

"Me? Over to the Blue. Got a job waitin' for me. "

Corliss's fingers worked nervously. "When did you say the Concho paidoff?" he queried, avoiding the other's eye. 

Fadeaway's face expressed surprise. "The Concho? Why, next Monday. Why?"

"Oh--nothing. I was just wondering . . . "

"Want to send any word to Jack?" asked the cowboy. 

"No, I don't. Thanks, just the same, Fade. "

"Sure! Well, I guess I'll be goin'. "

"Wait a minute. Don't be in a rush. I was thinking . . . "

Fadeaway strode to the window and stood looking out on the street. Hisapparent indifference was effective. 

"Say, Fade, do you think we could--could get away with it?"

"With what?" exclaimed the cowboy, turning. 

"Oh, you know! What you said yesterday. "

"Guess I said a whole lot yesterday that I forgot this mornin'. I getto joshin' when I'm drinkin' bug-juice. What you gettin' at?"

"The money--at the Concho. "

"Oh, that! Why, Billy, I was jest stringin' you! Supposin' somebodywas to make a try for it; there's Chance like to be prowlin' around andthe safe ain't standin' open nights. Besides, Jack sleeps next to theoffice. That was a josh. "

"Well, I could handle Chance, " said Corliss. "And I know thecombination to the safe, if it hasn't been changed. You said Jack waslikely to be away nights, now. "

Fadeaway shook his head. "You're dreamin', Bill. 'Sides, I wouldn'ttouch a job like that for less'n five hundred. "

"Would you--for five hundred?"

"I dunno. Depends on who I was ridin' with. "

"Well, I'll divvy up--give you five hundred if you'll come in on it. "

Again Fadeaway shook his head. "It's too risky, Billy. 'Course youmean all right--but I reckon you ain't got nerve enough to put herthrough. "

"I haven't!" flashed Corliss. "Try me!"

"And make a get-away, " continued the cowboy. "I wouldn't want to seeyou pinched. "

"I'll take a chance, if you will, " said Corliss, now assuming, asFadeaway had intended, the rôle of leader in the proposed robbery. 

"How you expect to get clear--when they find it out?"

"I could get old man Soper to hide me out till I could get to Sagetown. He'll do anything for money. I could be on the Limited before the newswould get to Antelope. "

"And if you got pinched, first thing you'd sing out 'Fadeaway, ' andthen me for over the road, eh?"

"Honest, Fade. I'll swear that I won't give you away, even if I getcaught. Here's my hand on it. "

"Give me nine hundred and I'll go you, " said Fadeaway, shaking handswith his companion. 

Corliss hesitated. Was the risk worth but half the money involved?"Five's a whole lot, Fade. "

"Well, seein' you're goin' to do the gettin' at it, why, mebby I'd riskit for five hundred. I dunno. "

"You said you'd stand by a pal, Fade. Now's your chance. "

"All right. See here, Bill. You cut out the booze all you can to-day. Foot it out to the Beaver Dam to-night and I'll have a hoss for you. We can ride up the old caņon trail. Nobody takes her nowadays, sowe'll be under cover till we hit the ford. We can camp there back inthe brush and tackle her next evenin'. So-long. "

Fadeaway was downstairs and out on the street before Corliss realizedthat he had committed himself to a desperate and dangerous undertaking. He recalled the expression in Fadeaway's eyes when they had shakenhands. Unquestionably the cowboy meant business. 

CHAPTER IX

SUNDOWN'S FRIEND

Bud Shoop was illustrating, with quaint and humorous gestures andadjectives, one of his early experiences as Ranger on the ApacheReservation. The men, grouped around the night-fire, smoked and helpedthe tale along with reminiscent suggestions and ejaculations ofinterest and curiosity. In the midst of a vivid account of thejuxtaposition of a telephone battery and a curious yet unsuspiciousApache, Shoop paused in the recital and gazed out across the mesa. "It's the boss, " he said, getting to his feet. "Wonder what's up?"

Corliss rode into camp, swung from the saddle, and called to Shoop. The men gazed at each other, nodded, and the words "Loring" and"sheep, " punctuated their mutterings. 

Shoop and Corliss talked together. Then the foreman called to HiWingle, asking him how the "chuck" was holding out. 

"Runnin' short on flour and beans, Bud. Figured on makin' the Conchoto-morrow. "

Corliss and his foreman came to the fire. "Boss says we're goin' tobush here the rest of this week, " and Corliss nodded. 

"I'm expecting company on the west side, " explained Corliss, The men gazed at each other knowingly. 

"All right, " said Wingle. "Four sacks of flour and a sack offrijoles'll see us through. Got enough other stuff. "

"Send some one in for it, " ordered Corliss. "I'm going to stay withthe outfit, from now on. "

The men cheered. That was the kind of a boss to work for! No settin'back and lettin' the men do the fightin'! Some style to Jack Corliss!All of which was subtly expressed in their applause, although unspoken. 

"To see that you boys don't get into mischief, " continued Corliss, smiling. 

"Which means keepin' other folks out of mischief, eh, patron?" said acow-puncher. 

At the word "patron" the men laughed. "They're talkin' of turnin' thisoutfit into a sheep-camp, " remarked another. "Ba-a-ah!" And again theylaughed. 

Shoop motioned to Sundown who rose from beside the fire. "You cansaddle up, Sun. "

Sundown caught up his horse and stood waiting while one of the mensaddled two pack-animals. "Tony has the keys. He'll pack the stufffor you, " said Corliss. "Keep jogging and you ought to be back here bysunup. "

The assistant cook mounted and took the lead-rope of the pack-horses. He was not altogether pleased with the prospect of an all-night ride, but he knew that he had been chosen as the one whose services couldmost easily be dispensed with at the camp. Silently he rode away, theempty kyacks clattering as the pack-horses trotted unwillingly behindhim. Too busy with the unaccustomed lead-rope to roll cigarettes, hewhistled, and, in turn, recited verse to keep up his spirits. 

About midnight he discerned the outline of the low ranch-buildings andurged his horse to a faster gait. As he passed a clump of cottonwoods, his horse snorted and shied. Sundown reined him in and leaned peeringahead. The pack-animals tugged back on the rope. Finally he coaxedthem past the cottonwoods and up to the gate. It was open, an unusualcircumstance which did not escape his notice. He drifted through theshadows toward the corral, where he tied the horses. Then he steppedto the bunk-house, found a lantern and lighted it. He hallooed. Therewas no response. He stalked across to the ranch-house. He found thedoor unlocked. "Hi! Tony!" he called. No one answered. He pushedthe door open and entered. Holding the lantern above his head hepeered around the room. 

In the dim light of the lantern vague outlines took shape. He noticedthat the small safe in the corner was open. He became alarmed andagain called. He heard a slight movement behind him and turned to seethe door close. From behind stepped a figure, a slender figure thatseemed unreal, yet familiar. With a cry of surprise he jumped back andstood facing his old friend and companion of the road, Will Corliss. 

"Billy!" he ejaculated, backing away and staring. 

"Yes, it's Billy. " And Corliss extended his hand. 

"But--what, where--?" Sundown hesitated and glanced at the safe. Hiseyes widened and he lowered the lantern. "Billy!" he said, ignoringthe other's proffered hand, "what you doin' here?"

Corliss assumed a nonchalant air. "Shake, pal! It's a long time sincewe been in a wreck, eh?"

Sundown was silent, studying the other's hardened features. "Billy!"he reiterated, "what you doin' here?"

Corliss laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?" heretorted, --"in the office of the Concho, at midnight?"

"I was comin' to get flour and beans for the camp--" he began. 

Corliss interrupted him. "Sounds good, that! But they don't keep thegrub here. Guess you made a mistake. "

Sundown's face was expressionless. "Guess you made the mistake, Billy. I thought you was--dead. "

"Not on your tin-type, Sun. "

"I never thought you was crooked, Billy. "

"Crooked!" flashed Corliss. "Say, you--you forget it. I'm here to getwhat's coming to me. Jack turned me down, so I'm going to take what'smine. "

"Mebby it's yours, but you ain't gettin' it right, " said Sundown. "I--I--never thought you was--"

"Oh, cut that out! You didn't used to be so dam' particular. "

"I never swiped a cent in me life, Billy. "

"Well, forget it. I'm in a hurry. You go ahead and get the chuck. Here are the keys to the store-room--and beat it. Just forget that yousaw me; that's all. "

Sundown shook his head. "I ain't forgettin' that easy, Billy. 'Sides, I'm workin' for the Concho, now. They're treatin' me fine--and Ireckon I got to be square. "

"You mean you're going to squeal--going back on your old pal, eh?"

Sundown's face expressed conflicting emotions. He straightened hislean shoulders. "I tell you, Billy; if you beat it now, they won't benothin' to squeal about. "

"I'm going to. " And Corliss stepped toward the safe. "Just hold thatlight this way a minute. "

Sundown complied, and Corliss thought that the other had overcome hisscruples. Corliss hastily drew a small canvas sack from the safe andstuffed it into his pocket. Sundown backed toward the door. 

Corliss got to his feet. "Well, so-long, Sun. Guess I'll light out. "

"Not with that, " said Sundown. "I ain't no preacher, but I ain't goin'to see you go straight to hell and me do nothin'. Mebby some of thatdough is yourn. I dunno. But somebody's goin' to get pinched fortakin' it. Bein' a Bo, it'll be me. "

"So that's what's worrying you, eh? Scared you'll get sent over forthis. Well, you won't. You haven't got anything on you. "

"'T ain't that, Billy. It's you. "

Corliss laughed. "You're getting religion, too. Well, I never thoughtyou'd go back on me. "

"I ain't. I was always your friend, Billy. "

Corliss hesitated. The door behind Sundown moved ever so little. Corliss's eyes held Sundown with unwinking gaze. Slowly the door swungopen. Sundown felt rather than heard a presence behind him. Before hecould turn, something crashed down on his head. The face of his oldfriend, intense, hard, desperate, was the last thing imaged upon hismind as the room swung round and he dropped limply to the floor. 

"Just in time, " said Fadeaway, bending over the prostrate figure. "Geta move, Bill. I followed him from the cottonwoods and heard his talk. I was waitin' to get him when he come out, but I seen what he was up toand I fixed him. "

Corliss backed against the wall, trembling and white. "Is he--didyou--?"

Fadeaway grinned. "No, just chloroformed him. Get a move, Bill. Notellin' who'll come moseyin' along. Got the stuff?"

Corliss nodded. 

Fadeaway blew out the light. "Come on, Bill. She worked slick. "

"But--he knows me, " said Corliss. "He'll squeal. "

"And I reckon Jack'll believe him. Why, it's easy, Bill. They findthe Bo on the job and the money gone. Who did it? Ask me. "

At the cottonwoods they mounted. "Now, you fan it for Soper's, " saidFadeaway. "I'll keep on for the Blue. To-morrow evenin' I'll rideover and get my divvy. "

Corliss hesitated. 

"You better travel, " said Fadeaway, reining his horse around. "So-long. "

Chance, a prisoner in the stable, whined and gnawed at the rope withwhich Corliss had tied him. The rope was hard-twisted and tough. Finally the last strand gave way. The dog leaped through the doorwayand ran sniffing around the enclosure. He found Sundown's trail andfollowed it to the ranch-house. At the threshold the dog stopped. Hisneck bristled and he crooked one foreleg. Slowly he stalked to theprone figure on the floor. He sniffed at Sundown's hands and pawed athim. Slowly Sundown's eyes opened. He tried to rise and sank backgroaning. Chance frisked around him playfully coaxing. FinallySundown managed to sit up. With pain-heavy eyes he gazed around theroom. Slowly he got to his feet and staggered to the doorway. Heleaned against the lintel and breathed deeply of the fresh morning air. The clear cold tang of the storm that had passed, lingered, giving akeen edge to the morning. "We're sure in wrong, " he muttered, gazingat Chance, who stood watching him with head cocked and eyes eager forsomething to happen--preferably action. Sundown studied the dog dully. "Say, Chance, " he said finally, "do you think you could take a littleword to the camp? I heard of dogs doin' such things. Mebby you could. Somebody's got to do 'somethin' and I can't. " Painfully he stooped andpointed toward the south. "Go tell the boss!" he commanded. Chancewhined. "No, that way. The camp!"

Chance nosed across the yard toward the gate. Then he stopped andlooked back. Sundown encouraged him by waving his arm toward thesouth. "Go ahead, Chance. The boss wants you. "

Chance trotted toward the cottonwood, nosed among them, and finallytook Sundown's trail to the knoll. 

Sundown crept to the bunk-house, wondering what had become of theMexican, Tony. He determined to search for him, but became dizzy, and, crawling to a bunk, lay back groaning as the dull pain in his headleaped intermittently to blinding stabs of agony. It seemed agesbefore he heard the quick staccato of hoofs on the road. He raisedhimself on his elbow as Shoop and Corliss rode up on theirmud-spattered and steaming ponies. Sundown called as they dismountedat the corral. 

Corliss and Shoop stamped in, breathing hard. "What's up?" questionedCorliss. 

"They--they got the money, " muttered Sundown, pointing toward theoffice. 

"Who? See what's up, Bud. "

Shoop swung out and across the enclosure. 

Corliss stooped over Sundown. "What's wrong, Sun? Why, Great God, you're hurt!"

The rancher brought water and bathed Sundown's head. "Who did it?" hequestioned. 

"I dunno, boss. I come and caught 'em at it. Two of 'em, I guess. Iwas tryin' to stop one fella from takin' it when the other slips me oneon the head, and I takes a sleep. I was lookin' for Tony in theoffice. "

"Where's Tony?"

"I dunno. I was goin' to see--but--my head . . . "

"That's all right. You take it easy as you can. I'll find out. "

And Corliss left the room. With Chance he explored the outbuildingsand finally discovered the Mexican bound and gagged in the stable. Hereleased him, but could make nothing of his answers save that some onehad come at night, tied his hands and feet, and carried him from theranch-house. 

Corliss returned to Sundown. In the bunkhouse he encountered Shoop. 

"They robbed the safe, " said Shoop, and he spoke with a strangequietness. "Better come and take a look, Jack. "

"Didn't blow her, " said Shoop, pointing toward the corner as theyentered the office. 

Corliss knelt and examined the safe. "The man that did it knew thecombination, " he said. "There isn't a mark on the door. "

He rose, and Shoop met his eye. Corliss shook his head. "I don'tknow, " he said, as if in answer to a silent questioning. Then he toldShoop to look for tracks. 

"The rain's fixed the tracks, " said Shoop, turning in the doorway. "But it ain't drowned out my guess on this proposition. "

"Well, keep guessing, Bud, till I talk to Sundown. " And Corliss walkedslowly to the bunkhouse. He sat on the edge of the bunk and laid hishand on Sundown's sleeve. "Look here, Sun, if you know anything aboutthis, just tell me. The money's gone and you didn't get that cut onthe head trying to take it. I guess you're straight, all right, but Ithink you know something. "

Sundown blinked and set his jaw. 

Corliss observed and wisely forbore to threaten or command. "Did yourecognize either of the men?" he asked, presently. 

"No!" lied Sundown. "Wasn't I hit in the back of me head?"

Corliss smiled grimly. "What were you doing when you got hit?"

"Tryin' to stop the other guy--"

"What did he look like?"

"I dunno. Me lantern was on the floor. He was a hefty guy, bigger 'nyou. Mebby six feet and pow'ful built. Had whiskers so's I couldn'tpipe his face. Big puncher hat down over his eyes and a handkerchieftied like a mask. I was scared of him, you bet!"

Corliss slowly drew a sack of tobacco and papers from his pocket. Herolled a cigarette and puffed reflectively. Then he laughed. "I'm outabout eighteen hundred. That's the first thing. Next, you're used uppretty bad and we're short-handed. Then, we're losing time trying totrack the thieves. But I'm not riled up a little bit. Don't think I'mmad at you. I'm mighty glad you didn't get put out in this deal. That's where I stand. I want to find out who took the money. I don'tsay that I'll lift a rein to follow them. Depends on who did it. "

Sundown winced, and gazed up helplessly. He felt oppressed by thebroad-chested figure near him. He felt that he could not get awayfrom--what? Not Corliss, for Corliss was undoubtedly friendly. In aflash he saw that he could not get away from the truth. Yet hedetermined to shield his old pal of the road. "You're sure givin' methe third degree, " he said with an attempt at humor. "I reckon I gotto come through. Boss, are you believin' I didn't take the cash?"

"Sure I am! But that isn't enough. Are you working for the Concho, Sun, or for some other outfit?"

"The Concho, " muttered Sundown stubbornly. 

"And I'm the Concho. You're working for me. Listen. I've got a yarnto spin. The man that took the money--or one of them--was short, andslim, and clean-shaved, and he didn't wear a puncher hat. You weren'tscared of him because he was a coward. You tried to get him to playsquare and he talked to you while the other man got you from behind. That's just a guess, but you furnished the meat for it. "

"Me hands are up, " said Sundown. 

"All right. I'm not going to get after Billy for this. You lied tome, but you lied to save your pal. Shake!"

CHAPTER X

THE STORM

Will Corliss, riding through the timberlands toward the west, shiveredas a drop of rain touched his hand. He glanced up through the trees. The sky seemed clouded to the level of the pine-tops. He spurred hishorse as he again felt a spatter of rain. Before him lay several milesof rugged trail leading to an open stretch across which he would againenter the timber on the edge of the hollow where Soper's cabin wasconcealed. When Corliss had suggested Soper's place as a rendezvous, Fadeaway had laughed to himself, knowing that old man Soper had beendriven from the country by a committee of irate ranchers. The illicitsale of whiskey to the cowboys of the Concho Valley had been the causeof Soper's hurried evacuation. The cabin had been burned to theground. Fadeaway knew that without Soper's assistance Corliss would beunable to get to the railroad--would be obliged either to return to theConcho or starve on the empty mesas. 

Corliss bent his head as the rain drove faster. When he arrived at theedge of the mesa, the storm had increased to a steady dull roar ofrushing rain. He hesitated to face the open and reined up beneath aspruce. He was drenched and shivered. The fever of drink had died outleaving him unstrung and strangely fearful of the night. His horsestood with lowered head, its storm-blown mane whipping in the wind likea wet cloth. A branch riven from a giant pine crashed down behind him. Corliss jerked upright in the saddle, and the horse, obeying theaccidental touch of the spurs, plodded out to the mesa with head heldsideways. 

The rider's hands grew numb and he dropped the reins over the horn andshoved his hands in his pockets. Unaccustomed to riding he grew wearyand, despite the storm, he drowsed, to awaken with a start as gusts ofwind swept against his face. He raised his dripping hat and shook thewater from it. Then he crouched shivering in the saddle. He cursedhimself for a fool and longed for shelter and the warmth of a fire. Slowly a feeling of helplessness stole over him and he pictured himselfreturning to the Concho and asking forgiveness of his brother. Yet hekept stubbornly on, glancing ahead from time to time until at last hesaw the dim edge of the distant timber--a black line against thedarkness. He urged his horse to a trot, and was all but thrown as theanimal suddenly avoided a prairie-dog hole. The sweep of the storm wasbroken as he entered the farther timber. Then came the muffled roll ofthunder and an instant white flash. The horse reared as a bolt strucka pine. Came the ghastly whistle of flying splinters as the tree wasshattered. Corliss grabbed the saddle-horn as the horse bolted throughthe timberlands, working against the curb to reach the open. Once moreon the trail the animal quieted. They topped a gentle rise. Corlissbreathed his relief. Soper's cabin was in the hollow below them. 

Cautiously the horse worked sideways down the ridge, slipping andchecking short as the loose stones slithered beneath his feet. At thebottom of the hollow Corliss reined up and shouted. The wind whippedhis call to a thin shred of sound that was swept away in the roar ofthe storm. Again he shouted. As though in answer there came a burningflash of blue. The dripping trees surrounding the hollow jumped intoview to be blotted from sight as the succeeding crash of thunderdiminished to far titanic echoes. Where Soper's cabin had stood therewas a wet, glistening heap of fallen logs and rafters, charred andtwisted. The lightning flash had revealed more to the rider than thedesolation of the burned and abandoned homestead. He saw with instantvividness the wrecked framework of his own plans. He heard the echo ofFadeaway's sneering laugh in the fury of the wind. He told himselfthat he had been duped and that he deserved it. Lacking physicalstrength to carry him through to a place of tentative safety, he gaveup, and credited his sudden regret to true repentance rather than toweakness. He would return to the Concho, knowing that his brotherwould forgive him. He wept as he thought of his attitude of therepentant and broken son returning in sorrow to atone for his sin andshame. He magnified his wrongdoing to heroic proportions endeavoringto filch some sentimental comfort from the romantic. He it was thatneeded the sympathy of the world and not his brother John; John was aplodder, a clod, good enough, but incapable of emotion, or the finerfeelings. And Eleanor Loring . . . She could have saved him from allthis. He had begun well; had written acceptable verse . . . Then hadcome her refusal to marry him. What a fool he had been through it all!The wind and rain chastised his emotional intoxication, and he turnedshivering to look for shelter. Dismounting, he crept beneath a lowspruce and shivered beneath the scant covering of his saddle-blanket. To-morrow the sun would shine on a new world. He would arise andconquer his temptation. As he drifted to troubled sleep he knew, deepin his heart, that despite his heroics he would at that moment havegiven the little canvas sack of his brother's money for theobliterating warmth of intoxication. 

With the morning sun he rose and saddled. About to mount, hisstiffened muscles blundered. He slipped and fell. The horse, keenwith hunger, jumped away from him and trotted down the trail. Hefollowed shouting. His strength gave out and he gave up the chase, wondering where the horse would go. Stumbling along the slipperytrail, he cursed his clumsiness. A chill sweat gathered on his face. His legs trembled and he was forced to rest frequently. Crossing astream, he stooped and drank. Then he toiled on, eagerly scanning thehoof-prints in the rain-gutted trail. 

The sun was high when he arrived at the wagon-road above the Concho. Dazed and weak, he endeavored to determine which direction the horsehad taken. The heat of the sun oppressed him. He became faint, and, crawling beneath the shade of a wayside fir, he rested, promisinghimself that he would, when the afternoon shadows drifted across theroad, make his way to the Concho. He had slept little more than anhour when the swift patter of hoofs wakened him. As he got to hisfeet, a buckboard, drawn by a pair of pinto range-ponies, drew up. Corliss started back. The Mexican driving the ponies turned toward thesweet-faced Spanish woman beside him as though questioning herpleasure. She spoke in quick, low accents. He cramped the wagon andshe stepped to the road. The Seņora Loring, albeit having knowledge ofhis recent return to Antelope, his drinking, and all the unsavoryrumors connected with his return, greeted Corliss as a mother greets awayward son. She set all this knowledge aside and spoke to him withthe placid wisdom of her years and nature. Her gentle solicitudetouched him. She had been his foster-mother in those years that he andhis brother had known no other fostering hand than that of old HiWingle, the cook, whose efforts to "raise" the Corliss boys were morelargely faithful than discriminating. 

Seņora Loring knew at a glance that he was in trouble of some kind. She asked no questions, but held out her hands. 

Corliss, blind with tears, dropped to his knee: "Madre! Madre!" hecried. 

She patted his head. "You come with me. Then perhaps you have to sayto me that which now you do not say. "

He shook his head, but she paid no attention, leading the way to thebuckboard. He climbed beside the driver, then with an ejaculation ofapology, leaped to the road and helped her in. 

"Where you would like to go?" she asked. "The Concho?"

Again he shook his head. "I can't. I--"

She questioned his hesitation with her eyes. 

"I'll tell you when--when I feel better. Madre, I'm sick. "

"I know, " she said. 

Then, turning to the driver, she gestured down the wagon-trail. 

They drove through the morning woodlands, swung to the east, andcrossed the ford. The clustered adobes of the Loring homesteadglimmered in the sun. Corliss glanced across the river toward theConcho. Again the Seņora Loring questioned him with a glance. 

He shook his head. "Away--anywhere, " he said, gesturing toward thehorizon. 

"You come home with me, " she said quietly. "Nellie is not at the hometo-day. You rest, and then perhaps you go to the Concho. "

As they entered the gateway of the Loring rancho, Corliss made asthough to dismount. The Seņora Loring touched his arm. He shruggedhis shoulders; then gazed ahead at the peaceful habitation of the oldsheep-herder. 

The Seņora told the driver to tie the team and wait. Then she enteredthe house. Corliss gazed about the familiar room while she madecoffee. Half starved, he ate ravenously the meal she prepared for him. Later, when she came and sat opposite, her plump hands folded in herlap, her whole attitude restful and assuring, he told her of therobbery, concealing nothing save the name of Fadeaway. 

Then he drew the canvas sack from his pocket. "I thought I could goback and face it out, but now, I can't. Will you--return it--and--tellJohn?"

She nodded. "Si! If you wish it so, my son. You would not do that asI would tell you--so I say nothing. I can only--what you say--help, with my hands, " and she gestured gracefully as though leading a child. "You have money to go away?"

"No, madre. "

"Then I give you the money. " And the Seņora, ignoring his half-heartedprotests, stepped to an adjoining room and returned. "Here is this tohelp you go. Some day you come back strong and like your father thebig John Corliss. Then I shall be much glad. "

"I'll pay it back. I'll do anything--"

But she silenced him, touching his lips with her fingers. "No. Thepromise to make is not so hard, but to keep . . . Ah! When you comeback, then you promise; si?"

Not a word of reproof, not a glance or a look of disapproval, yetCorliss knew that the Seņora's heart was heavy with sorrow for him. Hestrode to the doorway. Seņora Loring followed and called to thedriver. As Corliss shook hands with her, she kissed him. 

An anger against himself flushed his cheek. "I don't know which roadI'll take, madre, --after I leave here, --this country. But I shallalways remember . . . And tell Nell . . . That . . . " he hesitated. 

The Seņora smiled and patted his arm. "Si! I understand. "

"And, madre, there is a man--vaquero, or cook, a big man, tall, thatthey call Sundown, who works for the Concho. If you see him, pleasetell him--that I sent it back. " And he gestured toward the tablewhereon lay the little canvas sack of gold. "Good-bye!"

He stepped hurriedly from the veranda, climbed to the seat of thebuckboard, and spoke to the driver. For a long time the Seņora stoodin the doorway watching the glint of the speeding ponies. Then shewent to her bedroom and knelt before the little crucifix. Her prayerwas, strangely enough, not for Will Corliss. She prayed that the sweetMadonna would forgive her if she had done wrong. 

CHAPTER XI

CHANCE--CONQUEROR

Sundown's return to the camp occasioned some indirect questioning andnot a little comment. He told the story of his adventure at the Conchoin detail up to the point of his conversation with Will Corliss. Thenhe lapsed into generalities, exhibiting with some little pride thewound on his head as evidence of his attempt to prevent the robbery andincidentally as a reason for being unable to discourse further upon thesubject. His oft-repeated recital invariably concluded with, "I stepsin and tries to stop the first guy when _Wham!_ round goes the room andI takes a sleep. "

The men seemed satisfied with Sundown's graphic account in the main. Hi Wingle, the cook, asked no questions, but did a great deal ofthinking. He was aware that Will Corliss had returned to the Concho, and also, through rumor, that Corliss and Fadeaway had been together inAntelope. The fact that the robbers failed to get the money--so it wasgiven out--left the drama unfinished, and as such it lacked sustainedinterest. There would be no bandits to capture; no further excitement;so the talk eventually drifted to other subjects. 

The assistant cook's evident melancholy finally gave place to a happiermood as he realized that he had gained a modicum of respect in a campwhere hitherto he had been more or less of a joke. While he grievedover the events which led up to his newly attained prestige as a man ofnerve, he was not a little proud of the prestige itself, andprincipally because he lacked the very quality of courage that he wasnow accredited with. Perhaps the fact that he had "played square, " ashe saw it, was the true foundation of his attitude. 

He discharged his duties as assistant cook with a new and professionalflourish that amused the riders. When they rolled from their blanketsin the crisp air of the morning, they were never kept waiting for theircoffee, hot bread, and frijoles. Moreover, he always had a small firegoing, around which he arranged the tin plates, cups, knives and forks. This additional fire was acceptable, as the cooking was done on a largesheet-iron camp-stove, the immediate territory of which was sacred toHi Wingle. Wingle, who had been an old-timer when most of the Conchohands were learning the rudiments of the game, took himself and hispresent occupation seriously. His stove was his altar, though burntofferings were infrequent. He guarded his culinary precincts with awatchful eye. His attitude was somewhat akin to that of CardinalRichelieu in the handkerchief scene, "Take but one step within thesesacred bounds and on our head I'll lunch the cuss of Rum, " or somethingto that effect. He was short, ruddy, and bald, and his antithesis, Sundown, was a source of constant amazement to him. Wingle had seenmany tall men, but never such an elongated individual as his assistant. It became the habit of one or another of the boys to ask the cook theway to the distant Concho, usually after the evening meal, when theywere loafing by the camp-fire. Wingle would thereupon scratch his headand assume an air of intense concentration. "Well, " he wouldinvariably remark, "you take the trail along Sundown's shadder there, and keep a-fannin' it smart for about three hours. When you come tothe end of the shadder, take the right fork of the river, and inanother hour you'll strike the Concho. That's the quickest way. " Andthis bit of attenuated humor never failed to produce an effect. 

One morning, about a week after Sundown's return to his duties asassistant, while Wingle was drying his hands, preparatory to reading afew pages of his favorite novel, Sundown ambled into camp with anarmful of greasewood, dumped it near the wagon, and, straightening up, rolled a cigarette. 

Wingle, immersed in the novel, read for a while and then glanced upquestioningly. 

Sundown shook his head. 

"Now this here story, " said Wingle; "I read her forty-three times comenext round-up, and blamed if I sabe her yet. Now, take it where theperfesser--a slim gent with large round eye-glasses behind whichtwinkled a couple of deep-set studyus eyes--so the book says; now, takeit where he talks about them Hopi graves over there in the valley--"

"This here valley?" queried Sundown, immediately interested. 

"Sure! Well, I can sabe all that. I seen 'em. "

"Seen 'em?"

"Sure! Why Arizona's got more leavin's of history and dead Injuns andsuch, right on top of the ground, than any other State in the Union. Why, right over there in the caņon of the Concho there's a hull ruinedInjun village--stones piled up in little circles, and what was huts andcaves and the leavin's of a old irrigatin' ditch and busted ollas, andbones and arrow-heads and picture-writin' on the rocks--bears andeagles and mounting-lions and hosses--scratched right on the rocks. Them cliffs there is covered with it. "

"Them?" queried Sundown, pointing toward the caņon, "Do they chargeanything to see it?"

"Well, seein' they been dead about a thousand years, I reckon not. "

"A thousand years! Huh! I ain't scared of no Injuns a thousand yearsold. How far is it to them picture-things?"

"'Bout three mile. You can take a hoss and mosey over if you like. Figure on gettin' back 'round noon. "

"Any snakes over there?"

"Comf'table thick. You might get a pretty good mess of 'em, if you wasto take your time. I never bother to look for 'em. "

Sundown gazed at his length of nether limb and sighed. 

"Snakes won't bother you none, " said Wingle, reassuringly. "They gettired, same as anybody, and they'd have to climb too fur to see if youwas to home. "

Sundown rose and saddled a horse. He mounted and rode slowly towardthe rim of the distant caņon. At the caņon's brink, he dismounted andled his horse down the trail, stopping frequently to gaze in wondermentat the painted cliffs and masses of red rock strewn along the slopes. High up on the perpendicular face of the caņon walls he saw many cavesand wondered how they came to be there. "Makes a fella feel likesayin' his prayers, " he muttered. "Wisht I knowed one. "

He drifted on down the trail, which wound around huge fragments of rockriven from the cliffs in prehistoric days. He was awed by theimmensity of the chasm and talked continuously to his horse whichshuffled along behind paying careful attention to the footing. Arrivedat the stream the horse drank. Sundown mounted and rode along thenarrow level paralleling the river course. The caņon widened, andbefore he realized it he was in a narrow valley carpeted withbunch-grass and dotted with solitary cypress and infrequent clumps ofpine. He paused to inspect a small mound of rock which was partiallysurrounded by a wall of neatly laid stone. Within the semicircularwall was a hole in the ground--the entrance to a cave. Farther alonghe came upon the ruins of a walled square, unmistakably of humanconstruction. He became interested, and, tying his horse to ascrub-cedar, began to dig among the loose stones covering the interiorof the square. He discovered a fragment of painted pottery--thesegment of an olla, smooth, dark red, and decorated with a design inblack. He rubbed the earth from the fragment and polished it on hisoveralls. He unearthed a larger fragment and found that it matched theother piece. He was happy. He forgot his surroundings, and scratchedand dug in the ruin until he accumulated quite a little pile of shards, oddly marked and colored. Eventually he gathered up his spoils andtied them in his handkerchief. 

Leaving his horse, he meandered down the valley until he came toanother and larger cave. "Wonder what's down there?" he soliloquized. "Mebby one of them Injuns. Been there a thousand years waitin' forsomethin' to turn up. 'Nough to make a fella tired, waitin' thatlong. " He wanted to explore the cave, but he was afraid. Moreover, the interior was dark. He pondered. Finally his natural fondness formild adventure overcame his fear. "Got some matches!" he exclaimed, joyfully. "Wonder if it's deep? Guess I could put me legs in first, and if nothin' bites me legs, why, I could follow 'em down to bottom. "He put his head in the hole. "Hey!" he hallooed, "are you in there?"He rose to his feet. "Nothin' doin'. Well, here goes. I sure want tosee what's down there. "

In his excitement he overlooked the possibility of disturbing a torpidrattler. He slid feet first into the cave, found that he could all butstand upright, and struck a match. 

The ancient Hopis buried their dead in a sitting posture on a wovengrass mat, with an olla, and frequently a bone dagger, beside them. Inthe clean, dry air of the uplands of Arizona the process of decay isslow. Sundown, unaware of this, hardly anticipated that whichconfronted him as the match flamed blue and flared up, lighting theinterior of the cave with instant brilliance. About six feet fromwhere he crouched was the dried and shriveled figure of a Hopi chief, propped against the wall of the cave. Beside the figure stood thepainted olla untarnished by age. The dead Indian's head was bowed uponhis breast, and his skeleton arms, parchment-skinned and rigid, werecrossed upon his knees. 

Sundown scrambled for the circle of daylight above him. "Gee Gosh!" hepanted, as he got to his feet outside the cave. "It was him!" Heclambered over the circle of stones and backed away, eyeing theentrance as though he expected to see the Hopi emerge at any moment. He crouched behind a boulder, his pulses racing. He was keyed to ahigh tension of expectancy. In fact, he was in a decidedly receptivemood for that which immediately happened. He noticed that his horse, ahundred yards or so up the valley, was circling the cedar and pullingback on the reins. He wondered what was the matter with him. Thehorse was usually a well-behaved animal. The explanation came rapidly. Sundown saw the horse back and tear loose from the cedar; saw him whirland charge down the valley snorting. "Guess he seen one, too!" saidSundown making no effort to check the frightened animal. Almostimmediately came the long-drawn bell of a dog following a hot scent. Sundown turned from watching his vanishing steed and saw a hugetimber-wolf leap from a thicket. Behind the wolf came Chance, neckoutstretched, and flanks working at top speed. The wolf dodged aboulder, flashing around it with no apparent loss of ground. Chancerose over the boulder as though borne on the wind. The wolf turned andsnapped at him. Sundown decided instantly that the sepulcher of thedead Hopi was preferable to the proximity of the live wolf, and he madefor the cave. 

The wolf circled the wall of stones and also made for the cave. Sundown had arrived a little ahead of him. The top of Sundown's headappeared for an instant; then vanished. The wolf backed snarlingagainst the wall as Chance leaped in. When Sundown's head againappeared, the whirling mass of writhing fur and kicking legs had takenmore definite shape. Chance had fastened on the wolf's shoulder. Thewolf was slashing effectively at the dog's side. Presently they laydown facing each other. Chance licked a long gash in his foreleg. Thewolf snapped as he lay and a red slaver dripped from his fangs. Nottwelve feet away, Sundown gazed upon the scene with fear-wide eyes. "Go to it, Chance!" he quavered, and his encouragement was all but thedog's undoing, for he lost the wolf's gaze for an instant, barelyturning in time to meet the vicious charge. Sundown groaned as thewolf, with a slashing stroke, ripped the dog's neck from ear toshoulder. The stones in the enclosure were spattered with red as theywhirled, each trying to reach the throat of the other. Suddenly Chanceleaped up and over the wolf, lunging for his neck as he descended. Thewolf rolled from under and backed toward the cave. "Hey!" yelledSundown. "You can't come in here!"

Chance, weakened from loss of blood, lay watching the wolf as itcrouched tensely. Again the great gray shadow lunged and a brightstreak sprung up on the dog's side. "Gee Gosh!" whined Sundown; "hecan't stand much more of that!" Undoubtedly Chance knew it, for hestraight-way gathered himself and leaped in, diving low for the wolf'sfore leg. As the wolf turned his shoulder, Chance again sprang overhim and, descending, caught him just behind the ear, and held. Thewolf writhed and snarled. Chance gripped in and in, with each savageshake of his head biting deeper. In a mighty effort to free himselfthe wolf surged backward, dragging Chance around the enclosure. Sundown, rising from the cave's mouth, crouched before it. "You gothim! You got him!" he cried. "Once more, now!"

The body of the wolf quivered and sagged, then stiffened as if for alast effort. Chance held. They were both lying on the stones now. Chance with fore feet braced against the wolf's chest. Presently thedog gave a final shake, drew back, and lay panting. From head toflanks he was soaked with blood. The wolf was dead. 

Sundown stood up. "Good boy, Chance!" he said. The great, gaunt bodyof the dog raised itself on trembling legs, the pride of the conquerorlighting for a moment his dimming eyes. "It's me, Chance!" saidSundown, stroking the dog's head. Chance wagged his tail and reachingup his torn and bleeding muzzle licked Sundown's hand. Then slowly hesank to the ground, breathed heavily, and rolled to his side. Sundownknelt over him and unaccustomed tears ran down his lean cheeks anddripped on the clotted fur. "You was some fighter, Chance, ole pal!Gee Gosh! He's nothin' except cuts and slashes all over. Gee Gosh!"He drew the dog's head to his lap and sat crooning weird, broken wordsand stroking the torn ears. Suddenly he stopped and put his hand overthe dog's heart. Then he leaped to his feet and, dumping the fragmentsof pottery from his bandanna, tore it in strips and began bandaging thewounds. The gash on Chance's neck still bled. Sundown drew his knifeand cut the sleeve from his shirt. He ripped it open and bound thedog's neck. Realizing that Chance was not dead, he became valiant. "We sure put up the great scrap, didn't we, pal? We licked him! Butif he'd 'a' licked you . . . " And Sundown gazed at the still form ofthe wolf and shuddered, not knowing that the wolf would have fled atsight of him had he been able to get away from Chance. 

Two hours later, Eleanor Loring, riding along the caņon stream, met alean giant, one sleeve of his shirt gone, his hat missing, and hishands splotched with blood. His eyes were wild, his face white andset. He carried a great, shaggy dog in his arms. 

"Are you hurt?" she asked, swinging from her pony and coming to him. 

"Me? No, lady. But me pal here is hurt bad. Jest breathin'. Killeda wolf back there. Mebby I can save him. "

"Why, it's Chance--of the Concho!"

"Yes, lady. What is left of him. "

"Do you work for the Concho? Won't you take my horse?"

"I'm assistant cook at the camp. No, thanks, lady. Ridin' mightjoggle him and start him to bleedin'. I can carry him so he'll beeasier-like. "

"But how did it happen?"

"I dunno. Chance chased the wolf and they went to it where I wasexplorin' one of them caves. I guess I better be goin'. "

The girl reined her horse around and rode down the valley trail, pausing occasionally to watch the tall figure climbing the caņon withthat shapeless burden in his arms. "I wonder if any other man on theConcho would have done that?" she asked herself. And Sundown, despitehis more or less terrifying appearance, won her estimation for kindnessat once. 

Slowly he climbed the caņon trail, resting at each level. The dog hunga limp, dead weight in his arms. Midway up the trail Sundown restedagain, and gazed down into the valley. He imagined he could discernthe place of the fight. "That there wolf, " he soliloquized, "he wassome fighter, too. Mebby he didn't like to get licked any more thanChance, here. Wonder what they was fightin' about? I dunno. But, GeeGosh, she was one dandy scrap!"

At the top of the caņon wall he again rested. He expected to bedischarged for being late, but solaced himself with the thought that ifhe could save Chance, it was worth the risk. 

The riders had returned to the chuck-wagon when Sundown arrived luggingthe inert body of the wolf-dog. They gathered around and asked briefquestions. Sundown, busy washing the dog's wounds, answered as well ashe could. His account of the fight did not suffer for lack ofembellishment, and while he did not absolutely state that he had takena hand in the fight, his story implied it. 

"Don't see nothin' on you to show you been in a scrap, " remarked ayoung puncher. 

"That's because you can't see in deep enough, " retorted Sundown. "If Iwasn't in every jump of that fight, me heart was. "

"Better shoot him and put him out of his sufferin', " suggested thepuncher. 

Sundown rose from beside the dog. Shoot Chance? Not so long as hecould keep between the dog and the cowboy's gun. The puncher, half injest, reached for his holster. Sundown's overwrought nerves gave way. He dropped to his knees and lifted his long arms imploringly. "Don't!Don't!" he wailed. "He ain't dead! Don't shoot my pal!"

Bud Shoop, who had kept silent, shouldered the puncher aside. "Cut itout, Sinker, " he growled. "Can't you sabe that Sundown means it?"

Later in the evening, and fortified with a hearty meal. Sundown gave arevised version of the fight, wherein his participation was modified, though the story lost nothing in re-telling. And, indeed, his ownachievement, of lugging Chance up the caņon trail, awakened a kind ofrespect among the easy-going cowboys. To carry an eighty-pound dog upthat trail took sand! Again Sundown had unconsciously won theirrespect. Nothing was said about his late return. And his horse hadfound its way back to the camp. 

Sometime in the night, Bud Shoop was awakened by the man next him. 

"What's goin' on?" queried Shoop, rising on his elbow. 

"Ask me again, " said the puncher. "Listen!"

From the vicinity of the wagon came the gurgle of water and then adistinctly canine sneeze. 

"Dinged if he ain't fussin' with that dog again!" grumbled Shoop. "Thedam' fool!" Which, as it is the spirit which giveth life to theletter, was not altogether uncomplimentary. 

CHAPTER XII

A GIFT

Warned by John Corliss of Loring's evident intent to graze his sheep onthe west side of the Concho River, the cattle-men held a quiet meetingat the ranch of the Concho and voted unanimously to round up a monthearlier than usual. The market was at a fair level. Beef was indemand. Moreover, the round-up would, by the mere physical presence ofthe riders and the cattle, check for the time being any such move asLoring contemplated, as the camps would be at the ford. Meanwhile thecattle-men again petitioned the Ranger at Antelope to stir up theservice at Washington in regard to grazing allotments. 

The round-up began. The Concho outfit moved camp to the ford andSundown had his first introduction to real work. From morning tillnight and far into the night the fires were going. Groups of belatedriders swung in and made for the chuck-wagons. Sundown, following astrenuous eighteen hours of uninterrupted toil, solemnly borrowed apiece of "tarp" from his outfit on which he lettered the legend:--

 "CAFE DE CONCHO--MEELS AT ALL HOURS--PRIVIT TABELS FOR LADYS"

He hung the tarp in a conspicuous place and retired to rest. Thefollowing morning his efforts were applauded with much picturesqueexpletive, and even criticism was evoked by a lean puncher who insisted"that the tall guy might be a good cook all right, but he sure didn'tknow how to spell 'calf. '" Naturally the puncher's erudition leanedtoward cattle and the range. 

At all times conspicuous, for he topped by a head and shoulders thetallest rider on the range. Sundown became doubly conspicuous as thestory of his experience with the hold-ups and his rescue of Chancebecame known. If he strutted, it was pardonable, for he strutted amongmen difficult to wrest approval from, and he had won their approval. 

At Hi Wingle's suggestion, he "packed a gun"--a formidable . 45 lent himby that gracious individual, for it grieved the solid Wingle's soul tosee so notable a character go unarmed. Sundown, like many a wiser man, was not indifferent to the effect of clothing and equipment. Obligedfrequently to relate his midnight adventure with the robbers, he becamea past-master in the art of dramatic expression. "If I'd 'a' had megun with me, " he was wont to say, slapping the holster significantly, "the deal might 'a' turned out different. I reckon it's luck Ididn't. " Which may have been true enough, for Sundown wouldundoubtedly have been afraid to use the weapon and Fadeaway might havemisunderstood his bungling. 

In his spare time he built a lean-to of odds and ends, and beneath itChance drowsed away the long, sunny hours while Sundown was rustlingfirewood or holding hot argument with an obstreperous dutch-oven. AndChance became the pet and the pride of the outfit. Riders from distantranches would stray over to the lean-to and look at him, commenting onhis size and elaborating on the fact that it usually took two of thebest dogs ever whelped to pull down a timber-wolf. 

Even Fadeaway, now riding for the Blue, became enthusiastic and boastedof his former friendship with Chance. When he essayed the intimacy ofpatting the dog's head, some of the onlookers doubted him, for Chancereceived these overtures with a deep-throated growl. 

"He won't let nobody touch him but that Sundown gent, " cautioned abystander. 

"Guess he's loco since he got chewed up, " said Fadeaway, retreating. 

Chance licked his wounds and recovered slowly. He would lie in thesun, watching with unwinking gaze the camp and the cluster of men aboutit until the form of Sundown loomed through the mass. Then he wouldbeat the ground with his tail and whine expectantly. As he becamestronger, he ventured to stretch his wound-stiffened muscles in shortpilgrimages to the camp, where the men welcomed him with hearty andprofane zest. Was he not the slayer of their enemy's sheep and thekiller of the timber-wolf? Eventually he was presented with a broadcollar studded with brass spikes, and engraved upon it was thesanguinary and somewhat ambiguous legend: "Chance--The Killer of theConcho. "

John Corliss, visiting the round-up, rode over to Sundown's tepee, asit was called. The assistant cook was greasing Chance's wounds. 

"How is he getting along?" asked Corliss. 

"Fine, boss, fine! This here is some little ole red-cross ward, believe me! He's gettin' over bein' lame and he eats regular. "

"Here, Chance!" called Corliss. 

The dog rose stiffly and stalked to his master, smelt of him and waggedhis tail, then stood with lowered head as though pondering some seriousdog-logic. 

"He's kind of queer, " explained Sundown, "but he's a whole pile betterthan he was a spell ago. Had to bring him water and feed him like ababy cuttin' teeth--though I never seen one doin' that. He wouldn'tlet nobody touch him 'ceptin' me. "

"Is he able to travel?"

"Oh, some. "

"Think he could make it to the Concho?"

Sundown hesitated. "Mebby. Yes, I reckon he could. He can run allright, only I guess he kind of likes hangin' around me. " And Sundownglanced sideways at Corliss. 

"He seems all right. I guess I'll take him back with me. I don't likethe idea of his running loose here. "

"He ain't bitin' nobody, " assured Sundown. 

Corliss glanced shrewdly at the other's lean, questioning face. "Guessyou won't miss him much. How are you making it?"

"Me? Fine! Reckon I'll take out me papers for a full-chested rangecook afore long. You see the L. D. Outfit says that I could have a jobwith them after the round-up. It kind of leaked out about them pies. 'Course they was joshin', mebby. I dunno. "

"The L. D. Boys are all right, " said Corliss. "If you want to make achange--"

"See here, boss! I done some ramblin' in my time. Guess because I waslookin' for somethin' new and excitin'. Well, I reckon they's plentynew and excitin' right to home on the Concho. Any time I get tired offallin' off hosses, and gettin' beat up, and mixin' up in dog and wolffights, why, I can go to bustin' broncos to keep me from goin' tosleep. Then Chance there, he needs lookin' after. "

Corliss seemingly ignored the gentle hint. He mounted and called tothe dog. Chance made no movement to follow him. Corliss frowned. "Here, Chance!" he commanded, slapping his thigh with his gauntletedhand. The dog followed at the horse's heels as Corliss rode across thehard-packed circle around the camp. Sundown's throat tightened. Hispal was gone. 

He puttered about, straightening the blankets. "Gee Gosh! but thishere shack looks empty! Never knowed sick folks could be so muchcomp'ny. And Chance is folks, all right. Talk about blue blood! Huh!I reckon a thoroughbred dog is prouder than common folks, like me. Some king, he was! Layin' there lookin' out at them punchers and hiseyes sad-like and proud, and turnin' his head slow, watchin' 'em likethey was workin' for him. They's somethin' about class that gets afella, even in a dog. And most folks knows it, but won't let on. "

He took Chance's drinking-basin--a bread-pan appropriated from theoutfit--and the frayed saddle-blanket that had been the dog's bed, andcarried them to the cottonwoods edging the river. There he hid thethings. He returned to the lean-to and threw himself on his blankets. He felt as though he had just buried a friend. A cowboy strolled upand squatted in front of the lean-to. He gazed at the interior, noddedto Sundown, and rolled a cigarette. He smoked for a while, glanced upat the sky, peered round the camp, and shrugged his shoulders. 

Sundown nodded. "You said it all, Joe. He's gone. "

The cowboy blew rings of smoke, watching them spread and dissolve inthe evening air. "Had a hoss onct, " he began slowly, --"ornery, glass-eyed, she-colt that got mixed up in a bob-wire fence. Seein' asshe was like to make the buzzards happy 'most any day, I took tonussin' her. Me, Joe Scott, eh? And a laugh comin'. Well, the boysjoshed--mebby you hearn some of 'em call me Doc. That's why. The boysjoshed and went around like they was in a horsepital, quiet andsteppin' catty. I could write a book out of them joshin's and sellher, if I could write her with a brandin'-iron or a rope. Anyhow, thecolt she gets well and I turns her out on the range, which ought to bethe end of the story, but it ain't. She come nickerin' after me like Iwas her man, hangin' around when I showed up at the ranch jest like Iwas a millionaire and she wantin' to get married. Couldn't get shet ofher. So one day I ropes her and says to myself I'll make a trick hossof her and sell her. The fust trick she done wasn't the one I reckonedto learn her. She lifted me one in the jeans and I like to lost allthe teeth in my head. 'You're welcome, lady, ' says I, 'for this here'fectionate token of thanks for my nussin' and gettin' joshed tofare-ye-well. Bein' set on learnin' her, I shortened the rope and lether kick a few holes in the climate. When she got tired of that, Ibegins workin' on her head, easy-like and talkin' kind. Fust thing Iknowed she takes a san'wich out of my shirt, the meat part bein' apiece of my hide. Then I got riled. I lit into her with the boots, and we had it. When I got tired of exercisin' my feet, she comes to merubbin' her nose ag'in' me and kind of nickerin' and lovin' uptremendous, bein' a she-hoss. 'Now, ' says I, 'I'm goin' to do thecourtin', sister. ' And I sot out to learn her to shake hands. She gotmost as good as a state senator at it: purfessional-like, but not realglad to see you. Jest put on. Then I learns her to nod yes. That washard. Then I gets her so she would lay down and stay till I told herto get up. 'Course it takes time and I didn't have the time reg'lar. I feeds her every time, though. Then she took to sleepin' ag'in' thebunk-house every night, seein' as she run loose jest like a dog. Whensomebody'd get up in the mornin', there she would be with her eyeslookin' in the winder, shinin', and her ears lookin' in, too. You seeshe was waitin' for her beau to come out, which was me. She took tofollowin' me on the range when I rid out, and she got fat and sizable. The boys give up joshin' and got kind of interested. But that ain'twhat I'm gettin' at. Come one day, about two year after I'd beenmonkeyin' with learnin' her her lessons, when I thinks to break her toride. I got shet of the idea of sellin' her and was goin' to keep hermyself. The boys was lookin' for to see me get piled, always figurin'a pet hoss was worse to break than a bronc. She did some fussin', butshe never bucked--never pitched a move. Thinks I, I sure got a winner. Next day she was gone. Never seen her after that. Trailed all overthe range, but she sure vamoosed. And nobody never seen her afterthat. She sure made a dent in my feelin's. "

Sundown sat up blinking. "I reckon that's the difference between ahoss and a dog, " he said, slowly. "Now, a hoss and me ain't what you'dcall a nacheral combination. And a hoss gets away and don't come back. But a dog comes back every time, if he can. 'Most any hoss will staywhere the feedin' is good, but a dog won't. He wants to be where hisboss is. "

"And that there Chance is with the boss, " said the cowboy, gesturingtoward the north. "Seen him foller him down the trail. "

Sundown nodded. The cowboy departed, swaggering away in the dusk. 

Just before Sundown was called to take his turn with the night-shift, alean, brown shape tore through the camp, upsetting a pot of frijolesand otherwise disturbing the peace and order of the culinary department. 

"Coyote!" shouted Wingle, vainly reaching for the gun that he had givento Sundown. 

"Coyote nothin'!" said a puncher, laughing. "It's the Killer come backhot-foot to find his pardner. "

Chance bounded into the lean-to: it was empty. He sniffed at the placewhere his bed had once been, found Sundown's tracks and followed themtoward the river. Sundown was on his knees pawing over something thatlooked very much like a torn and frayed saddle-blanket. Chancevolleyed into him, biting playfully at his sleeve, and whining. 

Sundown jumped to his feet. He stood speechless. Then a slow grincrept to his face. "Gee Gosh!" he said, softly. "Gee Gosh! It's you!"

Chance lay down panting. He had come far and fast. Sundown gatheredup the blanket and pan, rose and marched to the shack. "I was airin''em out against your comin' back, " he explained, untruthfully. Thefact was that he could not bear to see the empty bed in the lean-to andhad hidden it in the bushes. 

The dog watched him spread the blanket, but would not lie down. Instead he followed Sundown to the camp and found a place under thechuck-wagon, where he watched his lean companion work over the firesuntil midnight. If Sundown disappeared for a minute in search ofsomething. Chance was up and at his heels. Hi Wingle expressedhimself profanely in regard to the return of the dog, adding withunction, "There's a pair of 'em; a pair of 'em. " Which ambiguityseemed to satisfy him immensely. 

When Sundown finally returned to the lean-to, he was too happy tosleep. He built a small fire, rolled a cigarette and sat gazing intothe flames. Chance sat beside him, proud, dignified, contented. Sundown became drowsy and slept, his head fallen forward and his leanarms crossed upon his knees. Chance waited patiently for him to waken. Finally the dog nuzzled Sundown's arm with little jerks of impatience. "What's bitin' you now?" mumbled Sundown. "We're here, ain't we?"Nevertheless he slipped his arm around the dog's muscular shoulders andtalked to him. "How'd you get away? The boss'll raise peelin's overthis, Chance. It ain't like to set good with him. " He noticed thatChance frequently scratched at his collar as though it irritated him. Finally he slipped his fingers under the collar. "Suthin' got ketchedin here, " he said, unbuckling the strap. Tied inside the collar was afolded piece of paper. Sundown was about to throw it away when hereconsidered and unfolded it. In the flickering light of the fire hespread the paper and read laboriously:--

"Chance followed me to the Concho because I made him come. He showedthat he didn't want to stay. I let him go. If he gets back to you, keep him. He is yours. 

"JOHN CORLISS. "

Sundown folded the note and carefully tucked it in his pocket. He roseand slapped his chest grandiloquently. "Chance, ole pal, " he said witha brave gesture, "you're mine! Got the dockyments to show. What doyou think?"

Chance, with mouth open and lolling tongue, seemed to be laughing. 

Sundown reached out his long arm as one who greets a friend. 

The dog extended his muscular fore leg and solemnly placed his paw inSundown's hand. No document was required to substantiate hisallegiance to his new master, nor his new master's title to ownership. Despite genealogy, each was in his way a thoroughbred. 

CHAPTER XIII

SUNDOWN, VAQUERO

The strenuous days of the round-up were over. Bands of riders departedfor their distant ranches leaving a few of their number to ride lineand incidentally to keep a vigilant eye On the sheep-camps. 

David Loring, realizing that he had been checkmated in the first moveof the game in which cattle and sheep were the pawns and cowboys andherders the castles, knights, and, stretching the metaphor a bit, bishops, tacitly admitted defeat and employed a diagonal to draw thecattle-men's forces elsewhere. He determined to locate on theabandoned water-hole ranch, homestead it, and, by so doing, cut off thesupply of water necessary to the cattle on the west side of the ConchoRiver. This would be entering the enemy's territory with a vengeance, yet there was no law prohibiting his homesteading the ranch, the titleof which had reverted to the Government. Too shrewd to risk legalentanglement by placing one of his employees on the homestead, hedecided to have his daughter file application, and nothing forbade heremploying whom she chose to do the necessary work to prove up. Theplan appealed to the girl for various reasons, one of which was thatshe might, by her presence, avert the long-threatened war between thetwo factions. 

Sundown and, indirectly, Fadeaway precipitated the impending trouble. Fadeaway, riding for the Blue, was left with a companion to ride lineon the mesas. Sundown, although very much unlike Othello, found thathis occupation was gone. Assistant cooks were a drug on the range. Hewas equipped with a better horse, a rope, quirt, slicker, andinstructions to cover daily a strip of territory between the Concho andthe sheep-camps. He became in fact an itinerant patrol, his merephysical presence on the line being all that was required of him. 

It was the Seņora Loring who drove to the Concho one morning and waswelcomed by Corliss to whom she gave the little sack of gold. She toldhim all that he wished to know in regard to his brother Will, pleadingfor him with motherly gentleness. Corliss assured her that he felt noanger toward his brother, but rather solicitude, and made her happy byhis generous attitude toward the wrongdoer. He had already heard thathis brother had driven to Antelope and taken the train for the West. His great regret was that Will had not written to him or come to himdirectly, instead of leaving to the good Seņora the task ofexplanation. "Never figured that repenting by proxy was the bestplan, " he told the Seņora. "But he couldn't have chosen a betterproxy. " At which she smiled, and in departing blessed him in hersincere and simple manner, assuring him in turn that should the sheepand cattle ever come to an understanding--the Spanish for whichembraced the larger aspect of the problem--there was nothing shedesired or prayed for more than the friendship and presence of Corlissat the Loring hacienda. Corliss drew his own inference from this, which was a pleasant one. He felt that he had a friend at court, yetexplained humorously that sheep and cattle were not by nature fitted tooccupy the same territory. He was alive to sentiment, but more keenthan ever to maintain his position unalterably so far as business wasconcerned. The Seņora liked him none the less for this. To her he wasa man who stood straight, on both feet, and faced the sun. Herdaughter Nell . . . Ah, the big Juan Corliss has such a fine way withhim . . . What a husband for any woman! In the mean time . . . Onlythoughts, hopes were possible . . . Yet . . . Maņana . . . Maņana . . . There was always to-morrow that would be a brighter day. 

To say that Sundown was proud of his unaccustomed regalia from thecrown of his lofty Stetson to the soles of his high-heeledriding-boots, would be putting it mildly. To say that he wasespecially useful in his new calling as vaquero would not be to put itso mildly. Under the more or less profane tutelage of his companions, he learned to throw a rope after a fashion, taking the laughing salliesof his comrades good-naturedly. He persevered. He was foreverstealing upon some maternal and unsuspicious cow and launching his ropeat her with a wild shout--possibly as an anticipatory expression offear in case his rope should fall true. More than once he had beenyanked bodily from the saddle and had arisen to find himself minusrope, cow, and pony, for no self-respecting cow-horse could watchSundown's unprecedented evolutions and not depart thitherward, feelingashamed and grieved to think that he had ever lived to be a horse. AndSundown, despite his length of limb, seemed unbreakable. "He's themost durable rider on the range, " remarked Hi Wingle, incident to oneof his late assistant's meteoric departures from the saddle. "He wearsgood. "

One morning as Sundown was jogging along, engaged chiefly in watchinghis shadow bob up and down across the wavering bunch-grass, he saw thatwhich appeared to be the back of a cow just over a rise. He walked hishorse to the rise and for some fantastic reason decided to rope thecow. He swung his rope. It fell true--in fact, too true, for itencircled the animal's neck and looped tight just where the neck joinsthe shoulders. He took a turn of the rope around the saddle horn. Atlast he had mastered the knack of the thing! Why, it was as easy asrolling pie-crust! He was about to wonder what he was going to donext, when the cow--which happened to be a large and activesteer--humped itself and departed for realms unknown. 

With the perversity of inanimate objects the rope flipped in a looparound Sundown's foot. The horse bucked, just once, and Sundown waslaunched on a new and promising career. The ground shot beneath him. He clutched wildly at the bunch-grass, secured some, and took it alongwith him. Chance, who always accompanied Sundown, raced alongside, enjoying the novelty of the thing. He barked and then shot ahead, nipping at the steer's heels, and this did not add to his master'sprospects of ultimate survival. Sundown shouted for help when hecould, which was not often. Startled prairie-dogs disappeared in theirholes as the mad trio shot past. The steer, becoming warmed up to hiswork, paid little attention to direction and much to speed. That aband of sheep were grazing ahead made no difference to the chargingsteer. He plunged into the band. Sundown dimly saw a sea of sheepsurge around him and break in storm-tossed waves of wool on eitherside. He heard some one shout. Then he fainted. 

When he again beheld the sun, a girl was kneeling beside him, a girlwith dark, troubled eyes. She offered him wine from a wicker jug. Hedrank and felt better. 

"Are you hurt badly?" she asked. 

"Am--I--all here?" queried Sundown. 

"I guess so. You seem to be. "

"Was anybody else killed in the wreck?"

The girl smiled. "You're feeling better. Let me help you to sit up. "

Sundown for the moment felt disinclined to move. He was in fact prettythoroughly used up. "Say, did he win?" he queried finally. 

"Who?"

"Me dog, Chance. I got the start at first, but he kind of got aheadfor a spell. "

"I don't know. Chance is right behind you. He's out of breath. "

"Huh! Reckon I'm out more'n that. He's in luck this trip. "

"How did it happen?"

"That's what I'm wonderin', lady. And say, would you be so kind as totell me which way is north?"

Despite her solicitude for the recumbent Sundown, Eleanor Loringlaughed. "You are in one of the sheep-camps. I'm Eleanor Loring. "

"Sheep-camp? Gee Gosh! Did you stop me?"

"Yes. I was just riding into camp when you--er--arrived. I headed thesteer back and Fernando cut the rope. "

"Thanks, miss. And Fernando is wise to his business, all right. "

"Can you sit up now?" she asked. 

"Ow! I guess I can. That part of me wasn't expectin' to be movedsudden-like. How'd I get under these trees?"

"Fernando carried you. "

"Well, little old Fernando is some carrier. Where is he? I wouldn'tmind shakin' hands with that gent. "

"He's out after the sheep. The steer stampeded them. "

"Well, miss, speakin' from me heart--that there steer was no lady. Ithought she was till I roped him. I was mistook serious. "

"He might have killed you. Let me help you up. "

Sundown had been endeavoring to get to his feet. Finally he rose andleaned against a tree. Fortunately for him his course had been over astretch of yielding bunch-grass, and not, as might have been the case, over the ragged tufa. As it was his shirt hung from his back inshreds, and he felt that his overalls were not all that their nameimplied. The numbness of his abrasions and bruises was wearing off. The pain quickened his senses. He realized that his hat was missing, that one spur was gone and the other was half-way up his leg. He wasnot pleased with his appearance, and determined to "make a slope" asgracefully and as quickly as circumstances would permit. 

Chance, gnawing at a burr that had stuck between his toes, saw hismaster rise. He leaped toward Sundown and stood waiting for more fun. 

"Chance seems all right now, " said the girl, patting the dog's head. 

"John Corliss give him to me, miss. He's my dog now. Yes, he's activeall right, 'specially chasin' steers. "

"I remember you. You're the man that carried Chance up the caņon trailthat day when he was hurt. "

"Yes, miss. He ain't forgettin' either. "

The girl studied Sundown's lean face as he gazed across the mesas, wondering how he was going to make his exit without calling undueattention to his dearth of raiment. She had heard that this man, thisqueer, ungainly outlander, had been companion to Will Corliss. She hadalso heard that Sundown had been injured when the robbery occurred. Pensively she drew her empty gauntlet through her fingers. 

"Do you know who took the money--that night?" she asked suddenly, andSundown straightened and gazed at her. 

He blinked and coughed. "Bein' no hand to lie to a lady, I do, " hesaid, simply. "But I can't tell, even if you did save me life fromthat there steer. "

She bit her lips, and nodded. "I didn't really mean to ask. I wascurious to know. Won't you take my horse? You can send him backto-morrow. "

"And you beat it home afoot? Say, lady, I mebby been a Bo onct, but Iain't hurt that bad. If I can't find me trail back to where I startedfrom, it won't be because it ain't there. Thanks, jest the same. "

Sundown essayed a step, halted and groaned. He felt of himselfgingerly. He did not seem to be injured in any special place, as heached equally all over. "I'll be goin', lady. I say thanks for savin'me life. "

The girl smiled and nodded. "Will you please tell Mr. Corliss that Ishould like to see him, to-morrow, at Fernando's camp? I think he'llunderstand. "

"Sure, miss! I'll tell him. That Fernando man looks to be havin' sometrouble with them sheep. "

The girl glanced toward the mesa. Fernando and his assistant wereherding the sheep closer, and despite their activity were reallygetting the frightened animals bunched well. When she turned againSundown had disappeared. 

Sundown's arrival in camp, on foot, was not altogether unexpected. Oneof the men had seen a riderless horse grazing on the mesa, and hadridden out and caught it. Circumstantial evidence--rider and ropemissing--confirmed Hi Wingle's remark that "that there walkin'clothes-pin has probably roped somethin' at last. " And the "walkingclothes-pin's" condition when he appeared seemed to substantiate thecook's theory. 

"Lose your rope?" queried Wingle as Sundown limped up. 

"Uhuh. And that ain't all. You ain't got a pair of pants that ain'tworking have you?"

Wingle smiled. "Pants? Think this here's a Jew clothin'-store?"

"Nope. But if she was a horsepital now--"

"Been visitin'?"

"Uhuh. I jest run over to see some friends of mine in a sheep-camp. "

"Did, eh? And mebby you can tell me what you run over?"

"'Most everything out there, " said Sundown, pointing to the mesa. "Say, you ain't got any of that plaster like they put on a guy's headwhen he gets hit with a brick?"

"Nope. But I got salt. "

"And pepper, " concluded Sundown with some sarcasm. "Mebby I do looklike a barbecue. "

"Straight, Sun, salt and water is mighty healin'. You better ride overto the Concho and get fixed up. "

"Reckon that ain't no dream, Hi. Got to see the boss, anyhow. "

"Well, 'anyhow' is correc'. And, say, you want to see him first andtell him it's you. Your hoss is tied over there. Sinker fetched himin. "

"Hoss? Oh, yes, hoss! My hoss! Uhuh!"

With this somewhat ambiguous string of ejaculations Sundown limpedtoward the pony. He turned when halfway there and called to Wingle. "The cattle business is fine, Hi, fine, but between you and me I reckonI'll invest in sheep. A fella is like to live longer. "

Wingle stared gravely at the tall and tattered figure. He staredgravely, but inwardly he shook with laughter. "Say, Sun!" he managedto exclaim finally, "that there Nell Loring is a right fine gal, ain'tshe?"

"You bet!"

"And Jack ain't the worst . . . " Wingle spat and chewed ruminatively. "No, he ain't the worst, " he asserted again. 

"I dunno what that's got to do with gettin' drug sixteen mile, " saidSundown. "But, anyhow, you're right. "

CHAPTER XIV

ON THE TRAIL TO THE BLUE

In the shade of the forest that edged the mesa, and just back ofFernando's camp, a Ranger trail cuts through a patch of quaking-asp andmeanders through the heavy-timbered land toward the Blue range, aspruce-clad ridge of southern hills. Close to the trail two saddlehorses were tied. 

Fadeaway, riding toward his home ranch on the "Blue, " reined up, eyedthe horses, and grinned. One of them was Chinook, the other EleanorLoring's black-and-white pinto, Challenge. The cowboy bent in hissaddle and peered through the aspens toward the sheep-camp. He sawCorliss and Nell Loring standing close together, evidently discussingsomething of more than usual import, for at that moment John Corlisshad raised his broad Stetson as though bidding farewell to the girl, but she had caught his arm as he turned and was clinging to him. Herattitude was that of one supplicating, coaxing, imploring. Fadeaway, with a vicious twist to his mouth, spat. "The cattle business and thesheep business looks like they was goin' into partnership, " hemuttered. "Leave it to a woman to fool a man every time. And himpertendin' to be all for the long-horns!" He saw the girl turn fromCorliss, bury her face in her arms, and lean against the tree beneathwhich they were standing. Fadeaway grinned. "Women are all crooked, when they want to be, " he remarked, --"or any I ever knowed. If theycan't work a guy by talkin' and lovin', then they take to cryin'. "

Just then Corliss stepped to the girl and put his hand on her shoulder. Again she turned to him. He took her hands and held them while hetalked. Fadeaway could see her lips move, evidently in reply. Hecould not hear what was being said, as his horse was restless, frettingand stamping. The saddle creaked. Fadeaway jerked the horse up, andin the momentary silence he caught the word "love. "

"Makes me sick!" he said, spurring forward. "'Love, ' eh? Well, mebbymy little idea of puttin' Billy Corliss in wrong didn't work, but I'llhand Jack a jolt that'll make him think of somethin' else besides love, one of these fine mornin's!" And the cowboy rode on, out of tune withthe peace and beauty of his surroundings, his whole being centered uponmaking trouble for a man who he knew in his heart wished him no ill, and in fact had all but forgotten him so far as considering him eitheras an enemy or a friend. 

Just as he was about to swing out to the open of the mesa near the edgeof the caņon, he came upon a Mexican boy asleep beneath the lowbranches of a spruce. Fadeaway glanced across the mesa and, as he hadexpected, saw a band of sheep grazing in the sunshine. His trail randirectly toward the sheep. Beyond lay the caņon. He would not ridearound a herd of sheep that blocked his trail, not if he knew it! Ashe drew nearer the sheep they bunched, forcing those ahead to move on. Fadeaway glanced back at the sleeping boy, then set spur to his horseand waved his sombrero. The sheep broke into a trot. He rode back andforth behind them forcing them toward the caņon. He beat upon hisrolled slicker with his quirt. The sound frenzied the sheep and theyleaped forward. Lambs, trailing behind, called dolefully to theplunging ewes that trampled each other in their terror. Again thecowboy glanced back. No one was in sight. He wondered, for aninstant, what had become of Fernando, for he knew it was Fernando'sherd. He shortened rein and spurred his pony, making him rear. Thesheep plunged ahead, those in front swerving as they came to thecaņon's brink. The crowding mass behind forced them on. Fadeawayreined up. A great gray wave rolled over the cliff and disappearedinto the soundless chasm. A thousand feet below lay the mangledcarcasses of some five hundred sheep and lambs. A scattered few of theband had turned and were trotting aimlessly along the edge of the mesa. They separated as the rider swept up. One terror-stricken lamb, bleating piteously, hesitated on the very edge of the chasm. Fadeawayswung his hat and laughed as the little creature reared and leaped outinto space. There had been but little noise--an occasional frightenedbleat, a drumming of hoofs on the mesa, and they were swept from sight. 

Fadeaway reined around and took a direct line for the nearest timber. Halfway across the open he saw the Mexican boy running toward him. Heleaned forward in the saddle and hung his spurs in his pony's sides. Aquick beat of hoofs and he was within the shadow of the forest. Thenext thing was to avoid pursuit. He changed his course and rode towardthe heart of the forest. He would take an old and untraveledbridle-trail to the Blue. He was riding in a rocky hollow when hethought he heard the creak of saddle-leather. He glanced back. No onewas following him. Farther on he stopped. He was certain that he hadagain heard the sound. As he topped the rise he saw Corliss ridingtoward him. The rancher had evidently swung from the Concho trail andwas making his way directly toward the unused trail which Fadeawayrode. The cowboy became doubly alert. He shifted a little in thesaddle, sitting straight, his right hand resting easily on his hip. Corliss drew rein and they faced each other. There was something aboutthe rancher's grim, silent attitude that warned Fadeaway. 

Yet he grinned and waved a greeting. "How!" he said, as though he weremeeting an old friend. 

Corliss nodded briefly. He sat gazing at Fadeaway with an unreadableexpression. 

"Got the lock-jaw?" queried Fadeaway, his pretended heartinessvanishing. 

Corliss allowed himself to smile, a very little. "You better ride backwith me, " he said, quietly. 

Fadeaway laughed. "I'm takin' orders from the Blue, these days, " hesaid. "Mebby you forgot. "

"No, I haven't. "

"And I'm headed for the Blue, " continued the cowboy. "Goin' my way?"

"You're on the wrong trail, " asserted Corliss. "You've been riding thewrong trail ever since you left the Concho. "

"Uhuh. Well, I been keepin' clear of the sheep camps, at that. "

"Don't know about that, " said Corliss, easily. 

Fadeaway was too shrewd to have recourse to his gun. He knew thatCorliss was the quicker man, and he realized that, even should he getthe better of a six-gun argument, the ultimate result would be outlawryand perhaps death. He wanted to get away from that steady, heart-searching gaze that held him. 

"Sheep business is lookin' up, " he said, with an attempt at jocularity. 

"We'll ride back and have a talk with Loring, " said Corliss. "Some oneput a band of his sheep into the caņon, not two hours ago. Maybe youknow something about it. "

"Me? What you dreaming anyhow?"

"I'm not. It looks like your work. "

"So you're tryin' to hang somethin' onto me, eh? Well, you want tocall around early--you're late. "

"No, I'm the first one on the job. Did you stampede Loring's sheep?"

"Did I stampede the love-makin'?" sneered Fadeaway. 

Corliss shortened rein and drew close to the cowboy. 

"Just explain that, " he said. 

"Oh, I don' know. You the boss of creation?"

Corliss's lips hardened. He let his quirt slip butt-first through hishand and grasped the lash. Fadeaway's hand slipped to his holster. Before he could pull his gun, Corliss swung the quirt. The blow caughtFadeaway just below the brim of his hat. He wavered and grabbed at thesaddle-horn. As Corliss again swung his quirt, the cowboy jerked outhis gun and brought it down on the rancher's head. Corliss droppedfrom the saddle. Fadeaway rode around and covered him. Corliss's hatlay a few feet from where he had fallen. Beneath his head a dark oozespread a hand's-breadth on the trail. The cowboy dismounted and bentover him. "He's sportin' a dam' good hat, " he said, "or that would 'a'fixed _him_. Guess he'll be good for a spell. " Then he reached forhis stirrup, mounted, and loped up the trail. 

Old Fernando, having excused himself on some pretext when Corliss rodeinto the camp that morning, returned to find Corliss gone and NellLoring strangely grave and white. She nodded as he spoke to her andpointed toward the mesa. "Carlos--is out--looking for the sheep, " shesaid, her lips trembling. "He says some one stampeded them--run theminto the caņon. "

Fernando called upon his saints and cursed himself for his negligencein leaving his son with the sheep. Nell Loring spoke to him quietly, assuring him that she understood why he had absented himself. "It's myfault, Fernando, not yours. The patron will want to know why you wereaway. You will tell him that John Corliss came to your camp; that youthought I wanted to talk with him alone. Then he will know that it wasmy fault. I'll tell him when I get back to the rancho. "

Fernando straightened his wizened frame. "Si! As the Seņorita says, Ishall do. But first I go to look. Perhaps the patron shall not knowthat the vaquero Corlees was here this morning. It is that I ask theSeņorita to say nothing to the patron until I look. Is it that youwill do this?"

"What can you do?" she asked. 

"It is yet to know. Adios, Seņorita. You will remember the oldFernando, perhaps?"

"But you're coming back! Oh! it was terrible!" she cried. "I rode tothe caņon and looked down. "

Fernando meanwhile had been thinking rapidly. With quaint dignity heexcused himself as he departed to catch up one of the burros, which hesaddled and rode out to where his son was standing near the caņon. Theboy shrank from him as he accosted him. Fernando's deep-set eyesblazed forth the anger that his lips imprisoned. He sent the boy backto the camp. Then he picked up the tracks of a horseman on the mesa, followed them to the caņon's brink, glanced down, shrugged hisshoulders, and again took up the horseman's trail toward the forest. With the true instinct of the outlander, he reasoned that the horsemanhad headed for the old trail to the Blue, as the tracks led diagonallytoward the south. Finally he realized that he could never overtake therider by following the tracks, so he dismounted and tied his burro. Hestruck toward the caņon. A mile above him there was a ford. He wouldwait there and see who came. He made his perilous way down a notch inthe cliff, dropped slowly to the level of the stream, and followed itto the ford. He searched for tracks in the sun-baked mud. With a sighof satisfaction, perhaps of anticipation, he stepped to a clump ofcottonwoods down the stream and backed within them. Scarcely had hecrossed himself and drawn his gun from its weather-blackened holster, when he heard the click of shod hoofs on the trail. He stiffened andhis eyes gleamed as though he anticipated some pleasant prospect. Thecreases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he recognized in therider the vaquero who had set the Concho dog upon his sheep some monthsbefore. He had a score to settle with that vaquero for having shot athim. He had another and larger score to settle with him for--no, hewould not think of his beloved sheep mangled and dead at the bottom ofthe caņon. That would anger him and make his hand unsteady. 

Fadeaway rode his horse into the ford and sat looking downstream as thehorse drank. Just as he drew rein, the old herder imitated withperfect intonation the quavering bleat of a lamb calling to its mother. Fadeaway jerked straight in the saddle. A ball of smoke puffed fromthe cottonwoods. The cowboy doubled up and slid headforemost into thestream. The horse, startled by the lunge of its rider, leaped to thebank and raced up the trail. A diminishing echo ran along the caņonwalls and rolled away to distant, faint muttering. Old Fernando hadpaid his debt of vengeance. 

Leisurely he broke a twig from the cottonwoods, tore a strip from hisbandanna, and cleaned his gun. Then he retraced his steps to theburro, mounted, and rode directly to his camp. After he had eaten hetold his son to pack their few belongings. Then he again mounted theburro and rode toward the hacienda to face the fury of the patron. 

He had for a moment left the flock in charge of his son. He hadreturned to find all but a few of the sheep gone. He had tracked themto the caņon brink. Ah! could the patron have seen them, lying mangledupon the rocks! It had been a long hard climb to the bottom of thecaņon, else he should have reported sooner. Some one had driven thesheep into the chasm. As to the man who did it, he knew nothing. There were tracks of a horse--that was all. He had come to report andreceive his dismissal. Never again should he see the Seņora Loring. He had been the patron's faithful servant for many years. He wasdisgraced, and would be dismissed for negligence. 

So he soliloquized as he rode, yet he was not altogether unhappy. Hehad avenged insult and the killing of his beloved sheep with one littlecrook of his finger; a thing that his patron, brave as he was, wouldnot dare do. He would return to New Mexico. It was well!

CHAPTER XV

THEY KILLED THE BOSS!

Sundown, much to his dismay, was lost. With a sack of salt tied acrosshis saddle, he had ridden out that morning to fill one of the salt-logsnear a spring where the cattle came to drink. He had found the log, filled it, and had turned to retrace his journey when a flock of wildturkeys strung out across his course. His horse, from which the ridersof the Concho had aforetime shot turkeys, broke into a kind ofreminiscent lope, which quickened as the turkeys wheeled and ranswiftly through the timberland. Sundown clung to the saddle-horn asthe pony took fallen logs at top speed. The turkeys made for a rim ofa narrow caņon and from it sailed off into space, leaving Chance adisconsolate spectator and Sundown sitting his horse and thanking theArizona stars that his steed was not equipped with wings. It was thenthat he realized that the Concho ranch might be in any one of the fourdirections he chose to take. He wheeled the horse, slackened rein, andallowed that sagacious but apparently disinterested animal to pick itsleisurely way through the forest. Chance trotted sullenly behind. Hecould have told his master something about hunting turkeys had he beenable to speak, and, judging from the dog's dejected stride andexpression, speech would have been a relief to his feelings. 

The horse, nipping at scant shoots of bunch-grass and the blue-floweredpatches of wild peas, gravitated toward the old trail to the Blue and, once upon it, turned toward home. Chance, refreshing his memory of theold trail, ran ahead, pausing at this fallen log and thatfungus-spotted stump to investigate squirrel-holes with much sniffingand circling of the immediate territory. Sundown imagined that Chancewas leading the way toward home, though in reality the dog was merelykilling time, so to speak, while the pony plodded deliberately down thehomeward trail. 

Dawdling along in the barred sunshine, at peace with himself and thepleasant solitudes, Sundown relaxed and fell to dreaming of Andalusiancastles builded in far forests of the south, and of some SpanishPenelope--possibly not unlike the Seņorita Loring--who waited hiscoming with patient tears and rare fidelity. "Them theretrue-be-doors, " he muttered, "like Billy used to say, sure had the gladjob--singin' and wrastlin' out po'try galore! A singin'-man sure getsthe ladies. Now if I was to take on a little weight--mebby . . . " Hisweird soliloquy was broken by a sharp and excited bark. Chance wasstanding in the trail, and beyond him there was something . . . 

Sundown, anticipating more turkeys, slid from his horse without delay. He stalked stealthily toward the quivering dog. Then, dropping thereins, he ran to Corliss, knelt beside him, and lifted his head. Hecalled to him. He ripped the rancher's shirt open and felt over hisheart. "They killed me boss! They killed me boss!" he wailed, risingand striding back and forth in impotent excitement and grief. He didnot know where to look for water. He did not know what to do. Asudden fury at his helplessness overcame him, and he mounted and rodedown the trail at a wild gallop. Fortunately he was headed in theright direction. 

Wingle, Bud Shoop, and several of the men were holding a heatedconference with old man Loring when Sundown dashed into the Concho. Trembling with rage and fear he leaped from his horse. 

"They killed the boss!" he cried hoarsely. "Up there--in the woods. "

"Killed who? Where? Slow down and talk easy! Who's killed?" volleyedthe group. 

"Me boss! Up there on the trail with his head bashed in! Chance andme found him layin' on the trail. "

The men swung to their saddles. "Better come along, Loring, " saidShoop, riding close to the old sheep-man. "Looks like they was more 'none side to this deal. And you, too, Sun. "

The riders, led by the gesticulating and excited Sundown, swung out tothe road and crossed to the forest. Shoop and Hi Wingle spurred aheadwhile the others questioned Sundown, following easily. When theyarrived at the scene of the fight, Corliss was sitting propped againsta tree with Shoop and Wangle on either side of him. Corliss staredstupidly at the men. 

"Who done it?" asked Wingle. 

"Fadeaway, " murmured the rancher. 

Loring, in the rear of the group, laughed ironically. 

Shoop's gun jumped from its holster and covered the sheep-man. "If oneof your lousy herders done this, he'll graze clost to hell to-nightwith the rest of your dam' sheep!" he cried. 

"Easy, Bud!" cautioned Wingle. "The boss ain't passed over yet. Bill, you help Sinker here get the boss back home. The rest of you boys hitthe trail for the Blue. Fadeaway is like to be up in that country. "

"Ante up, Loring!" said Shoop, mounting his horse. "I'll see your handif it takes every chip in the stack. "

"Here, too!" chorused the riders. "We're all in on this. "

They trailed along in single file until they came to the ford. Theyreined up sharply. One of them dismounted and dragged the body ofFadeaway to the bank. They grouped around gazing at the hole inFadeaway's shirt. 

Shoop turned the body over. "Got it from in front, " he said, which wasobvious to their experienced eyes. 

"And it took a fast gun to get him, " asserted Loring. 

The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight onthe trail and the killing of Fadeaway. 

"Jack was layin' a long way from here, " said Wingle. 

"When you found him, " commented Loring. 

"Only one hoss crossed the ford this morning, " announced Shoop, wadingacross the stream. 

"And Fade got it from in front, " commented a puncher. "His tracks isheaded for the Blue. "

Again the men were silent. Shoop rolled a cigarette. The splutter ofthe sulphur-match, as it burned from blue to yellow, startled them. They relaxed, cursing off their nervous tension in monosyllables. 

"Well, Fade's played his stack, and lost. Jack was sure in the game, but how far--I dunno. Reckon that's got anything to do with stampedin'your sheep?" asked Wingle, turning to Loring. 

Loring's deep-set eyes flashed. "Fernando reported that a Concho riderdone the job. He didn't say who done it. "

"Didn't, eh? And did Fernando say anything about doin' a job himself?"asked Shoop. 

"If you're tryin' to hang this onto any of my herders, you're ridin' onthe wrong side of the river. I reckon you won't have to look far forthe gun that got _him_. " And Loring gestured toward the body. 

Hi Wingle stooped and pulled Fadeaway's gun from its holster. He spunthe cylinder, swung it out, and invited general inspection. "Fadenever had a chance, " he said, lowering the gun. "They's six pills inher yet. You got to show me he wasn't plugged from behind a rock orthem bushes. " And Wingle pointed toward the cottonwoods. 

One of the men rode down the caņon, searching for tracks. Chance, following, circled the bushes, and suddenly set off toward the north. 

Sundown, who had been watching him, dismounted his horse. "Chance, there, mebby he's found somethin'. "

"Well, he's your dog. Go ahead if you like. Mebby Chance struck ascent. "

"Coyote or lion, " said Wingle. "They ain't no trail down them rocks. "

Sundown, following Chance, disappeared in the caņon. The men coveredFadeaway's body with a slicker and weighted it with stones. Then theysent a puncher to Antelope to notify the sheriff. 

As they rode into the Concho, they saw that Corliss's horse was in thecorral. Their first anger had cooled, yet they gazed sullenly atLoring. They were dissatisfied with his interpretation of the killingand not a little puzzled. 

"Where's Fernando?" queried Shoop aggressively. 

Loring put the question aside with a wave of his hand. "Jest a minuteafore I go. You're tryin' to hang this onto me or mine. You're wrong. You're forgettin' they's five hundred of my sheep at the bottom of theConcho Caņon, I guess. They didn't get there by themselves. Fadeaway's got his, which was comin' to him this long time. That'snothin' to me. What I want to see is Jack Corliss's gun. "

Bud Shoop stepped into the ranch-house and presently returned with theCoitus. "Here she is. Take a look. "

The old sheep-man swung out the cylinder and pointed with a gnarled andhorny finger. The men closed in and gazed in silence. One of theshells was empty. 

Loring handed the gun to Shoop. "I'll ask Jack, " said the foreman. When he returned to the group he was unusually grave. "Says he pluggeda coyote this mornin'. "

Loring's seamed and weathered face was expressionless. "Well, he did agood job, if I do say it, " he remarked, as though to himself. 

"Which?" queried Shoop. 

"I don't say, " replied Loring. "I'm lettin' the evidence do thetalkin'. "

"Well, you'll hear her holler before we get through!" asserted theirrepressible Bud. "Fade, mebby, wa'n't no lady's man, but he hadsand. He was a puncher from the ground up, and we ain't forgettin'that!"

"And I ain't forgettin' them five hundred sheep. " Loring reinedaround. "And you're goin' to hear from me right soon. I reckon they'slaw in this country. "

"Let her come!" retorted Shoop. "We'll all be here!"

CHAPTER XVI

SUNDOWN ADVENTURES

By dint of perilous scrambling Sundown managed to keep within sight ofChance, who had picked up Fernando's tracks leading from thecottonwoods. The dog leaped over rocks and trotted along the levels, sniffing until he came to the rift in the caņon wall down which theherder had toiled on his grewsome errand. Chance climbed the sharpascent with clawing reaches of his powerful forelegs and quick thrustsof his muscular haunches. Sundown followed as best he could. He waskeyed to the strenuous task by that spurious by-product of anticipationfrequently termed a "hunch. "

When the dog at last reached the edge of the timber and dashed intoFernando's deserted camp, Sundown was puzzled until he happened torecall the incidents leading to Fadeaway's discharge from the Concho. He reclined beneath a tree familiar to him as a former basis forrecuperation. He felt of himself reminiscently while watching Chancenose about the camp. Presently the dog came and, squatting on hishaunches, faced his master with the query, "What next?" scintillatingin his glowing eyes. 

"I dunno, " replied Sundown. "You see, pardner, this here's Fernando'scamp all right. Now, I ain't got nothin' ag'in' that little oleFernando man, 'specially as it was him cut the rope that was snakin' meto glory onct. I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him, or nobody. Mebby Fadedid set after them sheep. Mebby Fernando knows it and sets after him. Mebby he squats in them cotton-woods by the ford and 'Pom!' goessomethin' and pore Fadeaway sure makes his name good. Never did likehim, but I ain't got nothin' ag'in' him now. You see, Chance, he'squit bein' mean, now. And say, gettin' killed ain't no dream. I beenthere three, four times myself--all but the singin'. Two wrecks, oneshootin', and one can o' beans that was sick. It sure ain't no fun. Wonder if gettin' killed that way will square Fade with the Big Bossover there? I reckon not. 'T ain't what a fella gets done to him thatcounts. It's what he does to the other guy, good or bad. Now, takethem martyrs what my pal Billy used to talk about. They was alwaysstandin' 'round gettin' burned and punctured with arrers, andlengthened out and shortened up when they ought to been takin' boxin'lessons or sords or somethin'. Huh! I never took much stock in them. If it's what a fella gets _done_ to him, it's easy money I'll be takin'tickets at the gate instead of crawlin' under the canvas--and mebbytryin' to sneak you in, too--eh, Chance?"

To all of which the great wolf-dog listened with exemplary patience. He would have preferred action, but not unlike many human beings whostrive to appear profound under a broadside of philosophical eloquence, applauding each bursting shrapnel of platitudes by mentally waggingtheir tails, Chance wagged his tail, impressed more by the detonationthan the substance. And Chance was quite a superior dog, as dogs go. 

When Sundown finally arrived at the Concho, he was met by Bud Shoop, who questioned him. Sundown gave a detailed account of his recentexploration. 

"You say they was no burros at the camp--no tarp, or grub, or nothin'?"

"Nope. Nothin' but a dead fire, " replied Sundown. 

"Any sheep?"

"Mebby four or five. Didn't count 'em. "

"Huh! Wonder where the rest of the greaser's herd is grazin'?"

"I dunno. I rode straight acrost to here. "

"Looks mighty queer to me, " commented the foreman. "I take it thatFernando's lit out. "

"Will they pinch the boss?" queried Sundown. 

"I don' know. Anyhow, they can't prove it on him. Even if Jackdid--and I don't mind sayin' it to you--plug Fade, he did it to keepfrom gettin' plugged hisself. Do you reckon I'd let any fellachloroform me with the butt of a . 45 and not turn loose? I tell you, if Jack had been a-goin' to get Fade _right_, you'd 'a' found 'emcloster together. And that ain't all. If Jack had wanted to get Fade, you can bet he wouldn't got walloped on the head first. The gun thatgot Fade weren't packed by a puncher. "

"Will they be any more shootin'?" queried Sundown. 

"Gettin' cold feet, Sun?"

"Nope. But say, it ain't no fun to get shot up. It don't feel goodand it's like to make a guy cross. A guy can't make pie or eat pie allshot up, nohow. "

"Pie? You sure are loco. What you tryin' to rope now?"

"Nothin'. But onct I was in the repair shop with two docs explorin' meworks with them there shiny little corkscrews, lookin' for a bullitthat Clammie-the-dip let into me system--me bein' mistook for anotherfriend of his by mistake. After the docs dug up the bullit they says, 'Anything you want to say?'--expectin' me to pass over, I reckon. 'There is, ' says I. 'I want to say that I ain't et nothin' sense theday before Clammie done me dirt. An' if I'm goin' to hit the slide Ijest as soon hit it full of pie as empty. ' And them docs commenced tolaugh. 'Let him have it, ' says one. 'But don't you reckon ice-creamwould be less apt to--er--hasten--the--er--' jest like that. 'Pussubleyou're correct' says the other. '" Sundown scratched his ear. "And Iet the ice-cream, feelin' kind o' sad-like seein' it wasn't pie. Yousee, Bud, gettin' shot up is kind of disconvenient. "

"Well, you're the limit!" exclaimed Shoop. "Say, the boss wants tomake a few talks to you to-morrow. Told me to tell you when you comeback. You better go feed up. As I recollec' Hi's wrastlin' out somepie-dough right now. "

"Well, I ain't takin' no chances, Bud. "

"You tell that to Hi and see what he says. "

"Nope. 'T ain't necessary. You see when them docs seen, about a weekafter, that I was comin' strong instead of goin', they says, 'Me man, if you'd 'a' had pie in your stummick when you was shot, you wouldn'tbe here to-day. You'd be planted--or somethin' similar. The fac' thatyour stummick was empty evidentially saved your life. ' And, " concludedSundown, "they's no use temptin' Providence now. "

Shortly after breakfast next morning Corliss sent for Sundown. Therancher sat propped up in a wide armchair. He was pale, but his eyeswere clear and steady. 

"Bud told me about yesterday, " he began, anticipating Sundown'sleisurely and erratic recital. "I understand you found me on the trailand went for help. "

"Yes. I thought you was needin' some about then. "

"How did you come to find me?"

"Got lost. Hoss he took me there. "

"Did you see any one on the trail?"

"Nope. "

"Hear any shooting?"

"Nope. But I seen some turkeys. "

"Well, I expect the sheriff will be here tomorrow. He'll want to talkto you. Answer him straight. Don't try to help me in any way. Justtell him what you know--not what you think. "

"I sure will, boss. Wish Chance could talk. He could tell. "

Corliss smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose he could. You followed him toFernando's camp?"

"Uhuh. "

"All right. Now, I've had a talk with Bud about something that hasbeen bothering me. I think I can trust you. I want you to ride toAntelope to-morrow morning and give a letter from me to the lawyerthere, Kennedy. He'll tell you what to do after that. I don't feellike talking much, but I'll say this: You remember the water-holeranch. Well, I want you to file application to homestead it. Kennedywill tell you what to do. Don't ask any questions, but do as he says. You'll have to go to Usher by train and he'll go with you. You won'tlose anything by it. "

"Me? Homestead? Huh! And have cows and pigs and things? I don'tjest get you, boss, but what you say goes. Why, I'd homestead a ranchin hell and take chances on findin' water if you said it. Say, boss, "--and Sundown leaned toward Corliss confidentially and loweredhis voice, --"I ain't what you'd call a nervy man, but say, I gotsomethin' jest as good. I--I--" and Sundown staggered around feelingfor the word he wanted. 

"I know. We'll look it up in the dictionary some day when we're intown. Here's ten dollars for your trip. If you need more, Kennedywill give it to you. "

Sundown departed, thrilled with the thought that his employer hadplaced so much confidence in him. He wanted to write a poem, butcircumstances forbade his signaling to his muse. On his way to thebunk-house he hesitated and retraced his steps to the ranch office. Corliss told him to come in. He approached his employer deferentiallyas though about to ask a favor. 

"Say, boss, " he began, "they's two things just hit me to onct. Can Itake Chance with me?"

"If you like. Part of your trip will be on the train. "

"I can fix that. Then I was thinkin': No! my hoss is lame. I got toride a strange hoss, which I'm gettin' kind o' used to. But if you'llkeep your eye on my hoss while I'm gone, it'll ease me mindconsiderable. You see he's been with me reg'lar and ain't learned nobad tricks. If the boys know I'm gone and get to learnin' him aboutbuckin' and bitin' the arm offen a guy and kickin' a guy's head off androllin' on him, and rarin' up and stompin' him, like some, they's notellin' what might happen when I get back. "

Corliss laughed outright. "That's so. But I guess the boys will bebusy enough without monkeying with your cayuse. If you put thathomestead deal through, you can have any horse on the range exceptChinook. You'll need a team, anyway, when you go to ranching. "

"Thanks, boss, but I'm gettin' kind of used to Pill. "

"Pill? You mean Phil--Phil Sheridan. That's your horse's name. "

"Mebby. I did try callin' him 'Phil. ' It went all right when he wasstandin' quiet. But when he got to goin' I was lucky if I could hollerjust 'Whoa, Pill!' The 'h' got jarred loose every time. 'Course, bein' a puncher now, "--and Sundown threw out his chest, --"it'sdifferent. Anyhow, Pill is his name because there ain't anything a docever give a fella that can stir up your insides worse 'n he can when hetakes a spell. Your head hurtin' much?"

"No. But it will be if you don't get out of here. " And Corlisslaughed and waved his hand toward the door. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE STRANGER

Sundown, maintaining a mysterious and unusual silence, prepared tocarry out his employer's plans. His preparations were not extensive. First, he polished his silver spurs. Then he borrowed a coat from oneof the boys, brushed his Stetson, and with the business instinct of aHebrew offered Hi Wingle nine dollars for a pair of Texas wing chaps. The cook, whose active riding-days were over, had no use for the chapsand would have gladly given them to Sundown. The latter's offer ofnine dollars, however, interested Wingle. He decided to have a bit offun with the tall one. He cared nothing for the money, but wonderedwhy Sundown had offered nine dollars instead of ten. 

"What you been eatin'?" he queried as Sundown made his bid. "Goin'courtin'?"

"Nope, " replied the lean one. "Goin' east. "

"Huh! Expect to ride all the way in them chaps?"

"Nope! But I need 'em. Heard you tell Bud you paid ten dollars for'em 'way back fifteen years. Guess they's a dollar's worth worn off of'em by now. "

"Well, you sure do some close figurin'. I sure paid ten for 'em. Got'em from a Chola puncher what was hard up. Mebby you ain't figurin'that they's about twenty bucks' worth of hand-worked silver conchas on'em which ain't wore off any. "

Sundown took this as Wingle's final word. The amused Hi noted theother's disappointment and determined to enhance the value of the chapsby making them difficult to obtain, then give them to his assistant. Wingle liked Sundown in a rough-shod way, though Sundown was a bit tooserious-minded to appreciate the fact. 

The cook assumed the air of one gravely concerned about his friend'smental balance. "Somethin' sure crawled into your roost, Sun, but ifyou're goin' crazy I suppose a pair of chaps won't make no differenceeither way. Anyhow, you ain't crazy in your legs--just your head. "

"Thanks, Hi. It's accommodatin' of you to put me wise to myself. Iknow I ain't so durned smart as some. "

"Say, you old fool, can't you take a fall to it that I'm joshin'? Yousure are the melancholiest stretch of bones and hide I ever seen. Somehow you always make a fella come down to cases every time, withthat sad-lookin' mug of yourn. You sure would 'a' made a goodundertaker. I'll get them chaps. "

And Wingle, fat, bald, and deliberate, chuckled as he dug among hisbelongings and brought forth the coveted riding apparel. "Them chapshas set on some good hosses, if I do say it, " he remarked. "Take 'emand keep your nine bucks for life insurance. You'll need it. "

Sundown grinned like a boy. "Nope. A bargain's a bargain. Here's themoney. Mebby you could buy a fust-class cook-book with it and learnsomethin'. "

"Learn somethin'! Why, you long-geared, double-jointed, glass-eyed, hay-topped, star-smellin' st-st-steeple, you! Get out o' this afore Ibreak my neck tryin' to see your face! Set down so I can look you inthe eye!" And Wingle waved his stout arms and glowered in mock anger. 

Sundown laid the money on the table. "Keep the change, " he said mildlywith a twinkle in his eye. 

He picked up the chaps and stalked from the bunk-house. Chance, whohad been an interested spectator of this lively exchange of complimentand merchandise, followed his master to the stable where Sundown atonce put on the chaps and strutted for the dog's benefit, and his own. By degrees he was assuming the characteristics of a genuinecow-puncher. He would show the folks in Antelope what a rider for theConcho looked like. 

The following morning, much earlier than necessary, he mounted and rodeto the bunk-house, where Corliss gave him the letter and told him toleave the horse at the stables in Antelope until he returned from Usher. 

Sundown, stiffened by the importance of his mission, rode straight up, looking neither to the right nor to the left until the Concho was farbehind him. Then he slouched in the saddle, gazing with a pleasedexpression first at one leather-clad leg and then the other. For atime the wide, free glory of the Arizona morning mesas was forgotten. The shadow of his pony walked beside him as the low eastern sun burnedacross the golden levels. Long silhouettes of fantastic buttes spreadacross the plain. The sky was cloudless and the crisp thin airforetold a hot noon. The gaunt rider's face beamed with an innerlight--the light of romance. What more could a man ask than a goodhorse, a faithful and intelligent dog, a mission of trust, and sixtyundisturbed miles of wondrous upland o'er which to journey, fancy-freeand clad in cowboy garb? Nothing more--except--and Sundown realizedwith a slight sensation of emptiness that he had forgotten to eatbreakfast. He had plenty to eat in his saddle-bags, but he put thetemptation to refresh himself aside as unworthy, for the nonce, of hishigher self. Naturally the pent-up flood of verse that had beenoppressing him of late surged up and filled his mind with vague andpoignant fancies. His love for animals, despite his headlongexperiences on the Concho, was unimpaired, so to speak. He patted theneck of the rangy roan which he bestrode, and settled himself to theserious task of expressing his inner-most being in verse. He dippeddeep into the Pierian springs, and poesy broke forth. But not, however, until he had "cinched up, " as he mentally termed it, thesaddle of his Pegasus of the mesas. 

Sundown paused and called the attention of his horse to the last line. 

He hesitated, harking back for his climax. "Jing!" he exclaimed, "it'sthe durndest thing to put a finish on a piece of po'try! You get togoin' and she goes fine. Then you commence to feel that you're comin'to the end and nacherally you asks yourself what's the end goin' to belike. Fust thing you're stompin' around in your head upsettin' allthat you writ tryin' to rope somethin' to put on the tail-end of theparade that'll show up strong. Kind o' like ropin' a steer. Notellin' where that pome is goin' to land you. "

Sundown was more than pleased with himself. He again recited the verseas he plodded along, fixing it in his memory for the future edificationof his compatriots of the Concho. 

"The best thing I ever writ!" he assured himself. "Fust thing I knowthey'll be puttin' me in one of them doxologies for keeps. 'SundownSlim, The Poet of the Mesas!' Sounds good to me. Reckon that's why Inever seen a woman that I wanted to get married to. Writin' po'trykind of detracted me mind from love. Guess I could love a woman if shewouldn't laugh at me for bein' so dog-goned lengthy. She would have tobe a small one, though, so as she'd be kind o' scared o' me bein' sobig. Then mebby we could get along pretty good. 'Course, I wouldn'tlike her to be scared all the time, but jest kind o' respectable-liketo me. Them's the best kind. Mebby I'll ketch one some day. Nowthere goes that Chance after a rabbit ag'in. He's a long pieceoff--jest can hardly see him except somethin' movin'. Well, if hecomes back as quick as he went, he'll be here soon. " And Sundownjogged along, spur-chains jingling a fairy tune to his oral soliloquies. 

Aside from forgetting to have breakfast that morning, he had made apretty fair beginning. He was well on his way, had composed aroan-colored lyric of the ranges, discoursed on the subject of love, and had set his spirit free to meander in the realms of imagination. Yet his spirit swept back to him with a rush of wings and a question. Why not get married? And "Gee! Gosh!" he ejaculated, startled by theabruptness of the thought. "Now I like hosses and dogs and folks, butlivin' with hosses and dogs ain't like livin' with folks. If hossesand dogs take to you, they think you're the whole thing. But wimmen isdifferent. If they take to you--why, they think they're the wholething jest because they landed you. I dunno! Jest bein' good to folksain't everything, either. But bein' good to hosses and dogs is. Funny. I dunno, though. You either got to understand 'em and be roughto 'em, or be good to 'em and then they understand you. Guess theyain't no regular guide-book on how to git along with wimmen. Well, Inever come West for me health. I brung it with me, but I ain't goin'to take chances by fallin' in love. Writin' po'try is wearin' enough. "

For a while he rode silently, enjoying his utter freedom. Butfollowers of Romance must ever be minute-men, armed and equipped toanswer her call with instant readiness and grace. Lacking, perhaps, the grace, nevertheless Sundown was loyal to his sovereign mistress, inproof of which he again sat straight in the saddle, stirred to speechby hidden voices. "Now, take it like I was wearin' a hard-boiled hatand a collar and buttin shoes, like the rest of them sports. Why, thatwouldn't ketch the eye of some likely-lookin' lady wantin' to getmarried. Nix! When I hit town it's me for the big smoke and mepicture on the front page, standin' with me faithful dog and a lot ofthem fat little babies without any clothes on, but wings, flyin' aroundthe edge of me picture and down by me boots and up around me hat--andin big letters she'll say: 'Romance of A Cowboy. Western Cattle Kingin Search for his Long-lost Sweetheart. Sundown, once one of ourLeading Hoboes, now a Wealthy Rancher, visits the Metrokolis onMysterious Errand. ' Huh! I guess mebby that wouldn't ketch a goodone, mebby with money. "

But the proverbial fly must appear in the equally proverbial amber. "'Bout as clost as them papers ever come to it, " he soliloquized. "Anyhow, if she was the wrong one, and not me long-lost affiniky, andwas to get stuck on me shape and these here chaps and spurs, reckon Icould tell her that the papers made the big mistake, and that meMexican wife does the cookin' with a bread-knife in her boot-leg, andthat I never had no Mormon ideas, nohow. That ought to sound kind o'home-like, and let her down easy and gentle. I sure don't want to getsent down for breakin' the wimmen's hearts, so I got to be durnedcareful. "

So immersed was he in his imaginings that he did not at once realizethat his horse had stopped and was leisurely grazing at the edge of thetrail. Chance, who had been running ahead, swung back in a wide circleand barked impatiently. Sundown awakened to himself. "Here, you redhoss, this ain't no pie-contest. We got to hit the water-hole aforedark. " Once more in motion, he reverted to his old theme, but withfinality in his tone. "I guess mebby I can't tell them reporterssomethin' about me hotel out here on the desert! 'The only prevailableroad-house between Antelope and the Concho, run by the retiredcattle-king, Sundown Slim. ' Sounds good to me. Mebby I could work upa trade by advertisin' to some of them Eastern folks that eats nothin'tougher for breakfast than them quakin'-oats and buns and coffee. Getalong, you red hoss. "

About six o'clock that evening Sundown arrived at the deserted ranch. He unsaddled and led the horse to water. Then he picketed him for thenight. Returning, he prepared a meal and ate heartily. Just as thelight faded from the dusty windows, Chance, who was curled in a corner, rose and growled. Sundown strode to the door. The dog followed, sniffing along the crack. Presently Sundown heard the shuffling treadof a horse plodding through the sand. He swung open the door and stoodpeering into the dusk. He saw a horseman dismount and enter thegateway. Chance again bristled and growled. Sundown restrained him. 

"Hello, there! That you, Jack?"

"Nope. It's me--Sundown from the Concho. "

"Concho, eh? Was headed that way myself. Saw the dog. Thought mebbyit was Jack's dog. "

"Goin' to stop?" queried Sundown as the other advanced, leading hishorse. 

"Guess I'll have to. Don't fancy riding at night. Getting too old. "And the short, genial-faced stranger laughed heartily. 

"Well, they's plenty room. Had your supper?"

"No, but I got some chuck along with me. Got a match?"

Sundown produced matches. The other rolled a cigarette and studiedSundown's face covertly in the glow of the match. In the flare Sundownbeheld a thick-set, rather short-necked man, smooth-shaven, and of aruddy countenance. He also noticed that the stranger wore a coat, andat once surmised that he was neither cowboy nor herder. 

"Guess I'll stake out the hoss, " said the man. "See you later. "

Chance, who had stood with head lowered and neck outstretched, whinedand leaped up at Sundown, standing with paws on his master's chest andvainly endeavoring to tell him something. The dog's eyes were eloquentand intense. 

Sundown patted him. "It's all right, Chance. That guy's all right. Guess I know a good face when I see one. What's the matter, anyway?"

Chance dropped to his feet and stalked to his corner. He settledhimself with a lugubrious sigh, as though unwillingly relinquishing hisresponsibilities in the matter. 

When the stranger returned, Sundown had a fire going. "Feels good, "commented the man, rubbing his hands and surveying the room in the glowthat flared up as he lifted the stove-lid. "On your way in?"

"Me? Nope. I'm goin' to Antelope. "

"So? Is Jack Corliss hurt bad?"

"He was kind o' shook up for a couple of days. Guess he's gettin'along all right now. Reckon you heard what somebody done to Fadeaway. "

The stranger nodded. "They got him, all right. Knew Fade pretty wellmyself. Guess I'll eat. --That coffee of yours was good, all right, " hesaid as he finished eating. He reached for the coffee-pot and tippedit. "She's plumb empty. "

"I'll fill her, " volunteered Sundown, obligingly. 

As he disappeared in the darkness, the stranger stepped to the reardoor of the room and opened it. Then he closed the door and stoopinglaid his saddle and blankets against it. "He can't make a break thatway, " he said to himself. As Sundown came in, the man noticed that thefront door creaked shrilly when opened or closed and seemed pleasedwith the fact. "Too bad about Fadeaway, " he said, helping himself tomore coffee. "Wonder who got him?"

"I dunno. I found me boss with his head busted the same day they gotFade. "

"Been riding for the Concho long?"

"That ain't no joke, if you're meanin' feet and inches. "

The other laughed. His eyes twinkled in the ruddy glow of the stove. Suddenly he straightened his shoulders and appeared to be listening. "It's the hosses, " he said finally. "Some coyote's fussin' aroundbothering 'em. It's a long way from home as the song goes. Lend meyour gun and I'll go see if I can plug one of 'em and stop theiryipping. "

Sundown presented his gun to the stranger, who slid it between trousersand shirt at the waist-band. "Don't hear 'em now, " he announcedfinally. "Well, guess I'll roll in. "

Strangely enough, he had apparently forgotten to return the gun. Sundown, undecided whether to ask for it or not, finally spread hisblankets and called Chance to him. The dog curled at his master'sfeet. Save for the diminishing crackle of dry brush in the stove, theroom was still. Evidently the ruddy-faced individual was asleep. Vaguely troubled by the stranger's failure to return his gun, Sundowndrifted to sleep, not for an instant suspecting that he was virtuallythe prisoner of the sheriff of Apache County, who had at Loring'sinstigation determined to arrest the erstwhile tramp for the murder ofFadeaway. The sheriff had his own theory as to the killing and histheory did not for a moment include Sundown as a possible suspect, buthe had a good, though unadvertised, reason for holding him. Accustomedto dealing with frontier folk, he argued that Sundown's imprisonmentwould eventually bring to light evidence leading to the identity of themurderer. It was a game of bluff, and at such a game he played amaster hand. 

The stranger seemed unusually affable in the morning. He made thefire, and, before Sundown had finished eating, had the two poniessaddled and ready for the road. Sundown thought him a little tooagreeable. He was even more perplexed when the man said that he hadchanged his mind and would ride to Antelope with him. "Thought yousaid you was goin' to the Concho?"

"Well, seeing you say Jack can't ride yet, guess I'll wait. "

"He can talk, all right, " asserted Sundown. 

The other paid no apparent attention to this remark but rode alongpointing out landmarks and discoursing largely upon the weather, thefeed, and price of hay and grain and a hundred topics associated withranch-life. Sundown, forgetful of his pose as a vaquero of longstanding (unintentional), assumed rather the attitude of one absorbinginformation on such topics than disseminating it. Nor did heunderstand the stranger's genial invitation to have supper with him atAntelope that night, as they rode into the town. He knew, however, that he was creating a sensation, which he attributed to his Mexicanspurs and chaps. People stared at him as he stalked down the streetand turned to stare again. His companion seemed very well known inAntelope. Nearly every one spoke to him or waved a greeting. Yetthere was something peculiar in their attitudes. There was analoofness about them that was puzzling. 

"He sure looks like the bad man from Coyote Gulch, " remarked one whostood in front of "The Last Chance" saloon. 

"He ain't heeled, " asserted the speaker's companion. 

"Heeled! Do you reckon Jim's plumb loco? Jim took care of that. "

All of which was music to Sundown. He was making an impression, yet hewas not altogether happy. He did not object to being classed as a badman so long as he knew at heart that he was anything but that. Still, he was rather proud of his instant notoriety. 

They stopped in front of a square, one-story building. Sundown'scompanion unlocked the door. "Come on in, " he said. "We'll have asmoke and talk things over. "

"But I was to see Mr. Kennedy the lawyer, " asserted Sundown. 

"So? Well, it ain't quite time to see him yet. "

Sundown's back became cold and he stared at the stranger with eyes thatbegan to see the drift of things. "You ain't a cop, be you?" he askedtimorously. 

"They call it 'sheriff' here. "

"Well, I call it kind o' warm and I'm goin' outside. "

"I wouldn't. One of my deputies is sitting just across the street. He's a mighty good shot. Can beat me hands down. Suppose you dropback in your chair and tell me what you know about the shooting ofFadeaway. "

"Me? You ain't joshin', be you?"

"Never more serious in my life! I'm interested in this case. "

"Well, I ain't!" was Sundown's prompt remark. "And I got to go. I'mgoin' on privut business for me boss and confidenshell. Me and Chance. "

"That's all right, my friend. But I have some private and confidentialbusiness that can't wait. "

"But I ain't done nothin', " whined Sundown, lapsing into his oldattitude toward the law. 

"Maybe not. Mr. Loring telephoned me that Fadeaway had been shot andthat a man answering your description--a tramp, he said--seemed to knowsomething about it. You never was a puncher. You don't get on or offa cayuse like one. From what I learn you were a Hobo when Jack Corlissgave you a job. That's none of my business. I arrest you as asuspicious character, and I guess I'll have to keep you here till Ifind out more about Fadeaway's case. Have a cigar?"

"Huh! Say, don't you ever get mad?" queried Sundown, impressed by theother's most genial attitude. 

The sheriff laughed. "Doesn't pay in my business. Now, you just easeup and tell me what you know. It will save time. Did you ever havetrouble with Fadeaway?"

"Not on your life! I give him all the room he wanted. "

"Did you know Fernando---one of Loring's herders?"

"I seen him onct. He saved me life from bein' killed by a steer. Didhe say I done it?" parried Sundown. 

The sheriff's opinion of Sundown's acumen was disturbed. Evidentlythis queer individual posing as a cowboy was not such a fool, after all. 

"No. Have you seen him lately?"

"Nope. Chance and me was over to his camp, but he was gone. We kindo' tracked back there from the place where we found Fadeaway. "

"That so?"

"Uhuh. It was like this. " And Sundown gave a detailed account of hisexplorations. 

When he had finished, the sheriff made a note on the edge of anewspaper. Then he turned to Sundown. "You're either the deepest handI've tackled yet, or you're just a plain fool. You don't act like akiller. "

"Killer! Say, mister, I wouldn't kill a bug that was bitin' me 'less'nhe wouldn't let go. Why, ask Chance there!"

"I wish that dog could talk, " said the sheriff, smiling. "Did you knowthat old Fernando had left the country--crossed the line into NewMexico?"

"What? Him?"

"Yes. I know about where he is. "

"Guess his boss fired him for lettin' all the sheep get killed. Guesshe had to go somewhere. "

The sheriff nodded. "So you were going to take a little trip yourself, were you?"

"For me boss. You ask him. He can tell you. "

"I reckon when he finds out where you are he'll come in. "

"And you're goin' to pinch me?"

"You're pinched. "

"Well, I'm dum clost to gettin' mad. You look here! Do you think I'dbe ridin' to Antelope if I done anything like shoot a man? Do youthink I'd hand you me gun without sayin' a word? And if you think Ididn't shoot Fadeaway, what in hell you pinchin' me for? Ain't a guygot a right to live?"

"Yes. Fadeaway had a right to live. "

"Well, I sure never wanted to see him cross over. That's the way withyou cops. If a fella is a Bo, he gets pinched, anyhow. If he quitsbein' a Bo and goes to workin' at somethin', then he gets pinched forhavin' been a Bo onct. I been livin' honest and peaceful-like andstraight--and I get pinched. Do you wonder a Bo gets tired of tryin'to brace up?"

"Can't say that I do. Got to leave you now. I'll fix you upcomfortable in here. " And the sheriff unlocked the door leading to theone-room jail. "I'll talk it over with you in the morning. The wifeand kid will sure be surprised to see me back, so I'll mosey down homebefore somebody scares her to death telling her I'm back in town. So-long. "

Sundown sat on the narrow bed and gazed at the four walls of the room. "Wife and kid!" he muttered. "Well, I reckon he's got a right to have'em. Gee Gosh! Wonder if he'll feed Chance!"

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SHERIFF AND OTHERS

Chance, disconsolate, wandered about Antelope, returning at last to liebefore the door of the sheriff's office. The sheriff, havingreestablished himself, for the nonce, in the bosom of his family, strolled out to the street. He called to Chance, who dashed towardhim, then stopped with neck bristling. 

The sheriff's companion laughed. "I was going to feed him, " explainedthe sheriff. 

"I know what I'd feed him, " growled his companion. 

"What for? He's faithful to his boss--and that's something. "

The other grunted and they passed up the street. Groups of men waylaidthem asking questions. As they drifted from one group to another, thefriend remarked that his companion seemed to be saying little. Thestout sheriff smiled. He was listening. 

Chance, aware that something was wrong, fretted around the door ofSundown's temporary habitation. Finally he threw himself down, nose onoutstretched paws, and gazed at the lights and the men across the way. Later, when the town had become dark and silent, the dog rose, shookhimself, and padded down the highway taking the trail for the Concho. He knew that his master's disappearance had not been voluntary. Healso knew that his own appearance alone at the Concho would be evidencethat something had gone wrong. 

Once well outside the town, Chance settled to a long, steady stridethat ate into the miles. At the water-hole he leaped the closed gateand drank. Again upon the road he swung along across the starlitmesas, taking the hills at a trot and pausing on each rise to rest andsniff the midnight air. Then down the slopes he raced, and out acrossthe levels, the great bunching muscles of his flanks and shouldersworking tirelessly. As dawn shimmered across the ford he trotted downthe mud-bank and waded into the stream, where he stood shoulder-deepand lapped the cool water. 

Corliss, early afoot, found him curled at the front door of theranch-house. Chance braced himself on his fore legs and yawned. Thenstretching he rose and, frisking about Corliss, tried to make himselfunderstood. Corliss glanced toward the corral, half expecting to seeSundown's horse. Then he stepped to the men's quarters. He greetedWingle, asking him if Sundown had returned. 

"No. Thought he went east. "

"Chance came back, alone. "

And Corliss and the cook eyed each other simultaneously and nodded. 

"Loring, " said Wingle. 

"Guess you're right, Hi. "

"Sheriff must 'a' been out of town and got back just in time to meet upwith Sundown, " suggested Wingle. And he seized a scoop and dug intothe flour barrel. 

An hour later the buckboard stood at the ranch gate. Bud Shoop, crooning a range-ditty that has not as yet disgraced an anthology, stood flicking the rear wheel with his whip:--

 "Oh, that biscuit-shooter on the Santa Fé, --Hot coffee, ham-and-eggs, huckleberry pies, -- Got every lonely puncher that went down that way With her yella-bird hair and them big blue eyes . . . 

 "For a two-bit feed and a two-bit smile . . . "

The song was interrupted by the appearance of Corliss, who swung to theseat and took the reins. 

"I'll jog 'em for a while, " he said as Shoop climbed beside him. "Goahead, Bud. Don't mind me. "

Shoop laughed and gestured over his shoulder. "Chance, there, issleepin' with both fists this lovely mornin'. Wonder how Sun is makin'it?"

"We'll find out, " said Corliss, shaking his head. 

"Believe us! For we're goin' to town! Say, ain't you kind of offerin'Jim Banks a chance to get you easy?"

"If he wants to. If he locked Sundown up, he made the wrong move. "

"It's easy!" said Shoop, gesturing toward the Loring rancho as theypassed. "Goin' to bush at the water-hole to-night?"

"No. We'll go through. "

Shoop whistled. "Suits me! And I reckon the team is good for it. "

He glanced sideways at Corliss, who sat with eyes fixed straight ahead. The cattle-man's face was expressionless. He was thinking hard andfast, but chose to mask it. 

Suddenly Shoop, who had watched him some little time, burst into song. "Suits me!" he reiterated, more or less ambiguously, by the way, for hehad just concluded another ornate stanza of the "Biscuit-shooter" lyric. 

"It's a real song, " remarked Corliss. 

"Well, now!" exclaimed Shoop. And thereafter he also became silent, knowing from experience that when Corliss had anything worth while tosay, he would say it. 

About noon they reached the water-hole where Corliss spent some timeexamining the fences and inspecting the outbuildings. 

"She's in right good shape yet, " commented Shoop. 

"The title has reverted to the State. It's queer Loring hasn't triedto file on it. "

"Mebby he's used his homestead right a'ready, " suggested Shoop. "ButNell Loring could file. "

They climbed back into the buckboard. Again Shoop began a stanza ofhis ditty. He seemed well pleased about something. Possibly herealized that his employer's attitude had changed; that he had at lastawakened to the obvious necessity for doing something. As Corliss putthe team to a brisk trot the foreman's song ran high. Action was hiselement. Inactivity tended to make him more or less cynical, and ateinto his tobacco money. 

Suddenly Corliss turned to him. "Bud, I'm going to homestead thatranch. "

"Whoop!" cried the foreman. "First shot at the buck!"

"I'm going to put Sundown on it, for himself. He's steady and wouldn'thurt a fly. "

Shoop became silent. He, in turn, stared straight ahead. 

"What do you think of it?" queried Corliss. 

"Nothin'. 'Cept I wouldn't mind havin' a little ole homestead myself. "

Corliss laughed. "You're not cut out for it, Bud. You mean you'd likethe chance to make the water-hole a base for operations against Loring. And the place isn't worth seed, Bud. "

"But that water is goin' to be worth somethin'--and right soon. Loringcan't graze over this side the Concho, if he can't get to water. "

"That's it. If I put you on that ranch, you'd stand off Loring'soutfit to the finish, I guess. "

"I sure would. "

"That's why I want Sundown to take it up. He'd let his worst enemywater sheep or cattle there. He won't fight, but he's loyal enough tomy interests to sue Loring for trespass, if necessary. "

"See you and raise you one, Jack. They'll bluff Sun clean off his hindfeet. He won't stick. "

"I'll chance it, Bud. And, besides, I need you right where you are. "

"I'm sure happy!" exclaimed the irrepressible Bud, grinning. 

Corliss laughed, then shook his head. "I'll tell you one thing, " hesaid, facing his foreman. "I've been 'tending too many irons and someof 'em are getting cold. I don't want trouble with any one. I've heldoff from Loring because--oh--because I had a good reason to saynothing. Billy's out of it again. The coast is clear, and I'm goingto give old man Loring the fight of his life. "

The whoop which Shoop let out startled the team into a lunging gallop. "Go it, if you want to!" said Corliss as the buckboard swung around aturn and took the incline toward Antelope. "I'm in a hurry myself. "

Nevertheless, he saved the team as they struck the level and held themto a trot. "Wise old head, " was Shoop's inward comment. And thenaloud: "Say, Jack, I ain't sayin' I'm glad to see you get beat up, butthat bing on the head sure got you started right. The boys wascommencin' to wonder how long you'd stand it without gettin' your backup. She's up. I smell smoke. "

At Antelope, Shoop put up the horses. Later he joined his employer andthey had supper at the hotel. Then they strolled out and down thestreet toward the sheriff's home. When they knocked at the door it wasopened by a plump, dark-eyed woman who greeted them heartily. 

"Come right in, boys. Jim's tendin' the baby. " And she took theirhats. 

They stepped to the adjoining room where Sheriff Jim sat on the floor, his coat off, while his youngest deputy, clad only in an abbreviatedessential garnished with a safety-pin, sat opposite, gravely tearing upthe evening paper and handing the pieces to his proud father, whostuffed the pieces in his pants pocket and cheerfully asked for more. 

"Election?" queried Shoop. 

"And all coming Jim's way, " commented Corliss. 

The baby paused in his balloting and solemnly surveyed the dustystrangers. Then he pulled a piece of paper from his father's pocketand offered it to Shoop. "Wants me to vote, the little cuss! Well, here goes. " And, albeit unfamiliar with plump aborigines at closerange, the foreman entered into the spirit of the game and cast hisvote for the present incumbent, deputizing the "yearlin'" to handle thematter. The yearling however, evidently thought it was time for arecount. He gravitated to the perspiring candidate and, standing onhis hands and feet, --an attitude which seemingly caused him noinconvenience, --reached in the ballot-box and pulling therefrom ahandful of votes he cast them ceiling-ward with a shrill laugh, followed by an unintelligible spluttering as he sat down suddenly andbegan to pick up the scattered pieces of paper. 

"You're elected, " announced Shoop. 

And the by-play was understood by the three men, yet each maintainedhis unchanged expression of countenance. 

"You see how I'm fixed, boys, " said the sheriff. "Got to stick by myconstituent or he'll howl. "

"We're in no hurry, Jim. Just drove into town to look around a little. "

"I'll take him now, " said Mrs. Jim, as she came from the kitchen dryingher hands on her apron. 

The elector, however, was of a different mind. He greeted his motherwith a howl and a series of windmill revolutions of his arms and legsas she caught him up. 

"Got mighty free knee-action, " remarked Shoop. "Mebby when he's beddeddown for the night you can come over to the 'Palace. '"

"I'll be right with you. " And the sheriff slipped into his coat. "Howyou feeling, Jack?"

"Pretty good. That's a great boy of yours. "

"Sure got your brand, " added Shoop. "Built close to the ground likehis dad. "

Sheriff Banks accepted these hardy compliments with an embarrassed grinand followed his guests to the doorway. 

"Good-night!" called Mrs. Jim from the obscurity of the bedroom. 

"Good-night, ma'am!" from Shoop. 

"Good-night!" said Corliss. "Take good care of that yearling. "

"Well, now, John, as if I wouldn't!"

"Molly would come out, " apologized Jim, "only the kid is--is grazin'. How's the feed holdin' out on the Concho?" which question following innatural sequence was not, however, put accidentally. 

"Fair, " said Corliss. "We looked for you up that way. "

"I was over on the Reservation. I sent Tom up there to see afterthings, " and the sheriff gestured toward the distant Concho. "Sent himup to-night. Let's go over to the office. "

Corliss shook his head. "Don't want to see him, just now. Besides, Iwant to say a few things private. "

"All right. There was a buyer from Kansas City dropped in to townto-day. Didn't see him, did you?"

"Cattle?"

"Uhuh. "

"No. We just got in. "

They turned and walked up the street, nodding to an occasional lounger, laughing and talking easily, yet each knew that their banter was ameandering current leading to something deeper which would be soundedbefore they separated. 

Sheriff Banks suddenly stopped and slapped his thigh. "By Gum! Iclean forgot to ask if you had chuck. You see that kid of mine--"

"Sure! But we put the 'Palace' two feeds to the bad, " asserted Shoop. 

They drifted to the hotel doorway and paused at the counter where eachgravely selected a cigar. Then they clumped upstairs to Corliss'sroom. Jim Banks straddled a chair and faced his friends. 

Shoop, excusing himself with humorous politeness, punched the pillowstogether and lay back on the bed which creaked and rustled beneath hisweight. "These here corn-husk mattresses is apologizin', " he said, twisting around and leaning on his elbow. 

"Well, Jack, " said the smiling sheriff, "shoot the piece. "

"Or the justice of the peace--don't matter, " murmured Shoop. 

Corliss, leaning forward, gazed at the end of his cigar. Then heraised his eyes. "Jim, " he said quietly, "I want Sundown. "

"So do I. "

Corliss smiled. "You've got him, all right. What's your idea?"

"Well, if anybody else besides you asked me, Jack, they'd be wastingtime. Sundown is your man. I don't know anything about him except hewas a Hobo before he hit the Concho. But I happen to know that he waspretty close to the place where Fadeaway got his, the same day andabout the same time. I've listened to all the talk around town and ithasn't all been friendly to you. You can guess that part of it. "

"If you want me--" began Corliss. 

"No. " And the sheriff's gesture of negation spread a film of cigar-ashon the floor. "It's the other man I want. "

"Sundown?" asked Shoop, sitting up suddenly. 

"You go to sleep, Bud, " laughed the sheriff. "You can't catch me thateasy. "

Shoop relaxed with the grin of a school-boy. 

"I'll go bail, " offered Corliss. 

"No. That would spoil my plan. See here, Jack, I know you and Budwon't talk. Loring telephoned me to look out for Sundown. I did. Now, Loring knows who shot Fadeaway, or I miss my guess. Nellie Loringknows, too. So do you, but you can't prove it. It was like Fade toput Loring's sheep into the caņon, but we can't prove even that, now. I'm pretty sure your scrap with Fade didn't have anything to do withhis getting shot. You ain't that kind. "

"Well, here's my side of it, Jim. Fadeaway had it in for me for firinghim. He happened to see me talking to Nellie Loring at Fernando'scamp. Later we met up on the old Blue Trail. He said one or twothings that I didn't like. I let him have it with the butt of myquirt. He jerked out his gun and hit me a clip on the head. That'sall I remember till the boys came along. "

"You didn't ride as far as the upper ford, that day?"

"No. I told Fadeaway I wanted him to come back with me and talk toLoring. I was pretty sure he put the sheep into the caņon. "

"Well, Jack, knowing you since you were a boy, that's good enough forme. "

"But how about Sundown?"

"He stays. How long do you think I'll hold Sundown before Nell Loringdrives into Antelope to tell me she can like as not prove he didn'tkill Fade?"

"But if you know that, why do you hold him?"

"To cinch up my ideas, tight. Holding him will make talk. Folksalways like to show off what they know about such things. It's naturalin 'em. "

"New Mex. Is a comf'table-sized State, " commented Shoop from the bed. 

"And he was raised there, " said the sheriff. "He's got friends overthe line and so have I. Sent 'em over last week. "

"Thought Sun was raised back East?" said Shoop, again sitting up. 

Corliss smiled. "Better give it up, Bud. "

"Oh, _very_ well!" said Shoop, mimicking a _grande dame_ who had oncestopped at Antelope in search for local color. "Anyhow, you got to seta Mexican to catch a Mexican when he's hidin' out with Mexicans. " Withthis bit of advice, Shoop again relapsed to silence. 

"Going back to the Concho to-morrow?" queried Banks. 

"No. Got a little business in town. "

"I heard Loring was due here to-morrow. " The sheriff stated thiscasually, yet with intent. "I was talking with Art Kennedy 'bout twohours ago--"

"Kennedy the land-shark?" queried Shoop. 

"The same. He said something about expecting Loring. "

Bud Shoop had never aspired to the distinction of being called adiplomat, but he had an active and an aggressive mind. With theinstinct for seizing the main chance by its time-honored forelock, herose swiftly. "By Gravy, Jack! I gone and left them things in thebuckboard!"

"Oh, they'll be all right, " said Corliss easily. Then he caught hisforeman's eye and read its meaning. His nod to Shoop was all butimperceptible. 

"I dunno, Jack. I'd hate to lose them notes. "

"Notes?" And the sheriff grinned. "Writing a song or starting a bank, Bud?"

"Song. I was composin' it to Jack, drivin' in. " And the genial Budgrabbed his hat and swept out of the room. 

Long before he returned, Sheriff Jim had departed puzzling over theforeman's sudden exit until he came opposite "The Last Chance" saloon. There he had an instant glimpse of Bud and the one known as Kennedyleaning against the bar and conversing with much gusto. Then theswing-door dropped into place. The sheriff smiled and putting two andtwo together found that they made four, as is usually the case. He hadwanted to let Corliss know that Loring was coming to Antelope and tolet him know casually, and glean from the knowledge anything that mightbe of value. Sheriff Banks knew a great deal more about the affairs ofthe distant ranchers than he was ordinarily given credit for. He hadlong wondered why Corliss had not taken up the water-hole homestead. 

Corliss was in bed when Shoop swaggered in. The foreman did a fewsteps of a jig, flung his hat in the corner, and proceeded to undress. 

"Did you see Kennedy?" yawned Corliss. 

"Bet your whiskers I did! Got the descriptions in my pocket. You oweme the price of seven drinks, Jack, to say nothin' of what I tookmyself. Caught him at 'The Last Chance' and let on I was the porelonely cowboy with a sufferin' thirst. Filled him up with'Look-out-I'm-Comin'' and landed him at his shack, where he dug up themole water-hole descriptions, me helpin' promiscus. He kind o' buckedwhen I ast him for them papers. Said he only had one copy that he washoldin' for another party. And I didn't have to strain my guesser any, to guess who. I told him to saw off and get busy quick or I'd have himpinched for playin' favorites. Guess he seen I meant business, for hecome acrost. She toots for Antelope six-forty tomorrow mornin'. Thisis where I make the grand play as a homesteader, seein' pore Sundown'seatin' on the county. Kind o' had a hunch that way. "

"We'll have to nail it quick. If you file you'll have to quit on theConcho. "

"Well, then, I quit. Sinker is right in line for my bunk. Me for thebig hammer and the little ole sign what says: 'Private property! Keepoff! All trespassers will be executed!' And underneath, kind o'sassy-like, 'Bud Shoop, proprietor. '"

CHAPTER XIX

THE ESCAPE

About midnight Corliss and his foreman were awakened by a cry of"Fire!" They scrambled from bed and pawed around in the dark for theirclothes. 

"Spontinuous conibustication, " said Shoop, with a yawn. "A Jewclothin'-store and a insurance-policy. Wonder who's ablaze?"

"I can see from here, " said Corliss at the window. "Keep on dressing, Bud, it's the sheriff's office!"

"Sundown!" Shoop exclaimed, dancing about inelegantly with one foothalfway down his pants-leg. 

They tramped down the stairs and ran across to the blazing building. Agroup of half-dressed citizens were passing buckets and dashing theirfinal and ineffectual contents against the spouting flames. 

"He's sure done on both sides if he's in there, " remarked Shoop. Heran around to the back of the jail and called loudly on Sundown. Jumping, he caught the high wooden bars of the window and peered intothe rear room. A rivulet of flame crept along the door that led fromthe jail to the office. The room seemed to be empty. Shoop dropped tothe ground and strolled around to the front. "Tryin' to save thebuildin' or the prisoner?" he asked of a sweating bucket-passer. 

The man paused for a second, slopping water on his boots and gazingabout excitedly. "Hey, boys!" he shouted. "Get an axe and chop openthe back! The long gent is roastin' to death in there!"

"And I reckon that'll keep 'em busy while Sun fans it, " soliloquizedShoop. "Hello, Jack!" And he beckoned to Corliss. "He ain't inthere, " he whispered, "But how he got out, gets me!"

"We might as well go back to bed, " said Corliss. "They'll get him, anyway. There's one of Jim's deputies on a cayuse now. "

"Where do you reckon he'll head for?"

"Don't know, Bud. If he heads for the water-hole, they'll get him inno time. "

"Think he set her on fire?"

"Maybe he dropped a cigarette. I don't think he'd risk it, on purpose. "

Shoop glanced at his watch, tilting it toward the light of the flames. "It's just one. Hello! There comes the agent. Reckon he thought thestation was afire. "

"Guess not. He's lighting up. Must be a special going to stop. "

"He's sure set the red. Say, I'm goin' over to see. Wait a minute. "

Shoop followed the agent into the station. Presently the foremanreappeared and beckoned to Corliss. "Listen, Jack! Reddy says he'sgot some runnin' orders for the Flyer and she's got to stop to get 'em. That means we can eat breakfast in Usher, 'stead of here. No tellin'who'll be on the six-forty headed for the same place, tomorrow mornin'. "

Corliss pondered. His plan of homesteading the water-hole ranch hadbeen upset by the arrest of Sundown. Still, that was no reason forgiving up the plan. From Shoop's talk with Kennedy, the lawyer, it wasevident that Loring had his eye on the deserted ranch. 

Far down the track he saw a glimmering dot of fire and heard the faintmuffled whistle of the Flyer. "All right, Bud. I'll get the tickets. Get our coats. We can just make it. "

When they stepped from the Flyer at Usher, the faint light of dawn wasedging the eastern hills. A baggage-truck rumbled past and they heardsome one shout, "Get out o' that!" In the dim light they saw a figurecrawl from beneath the baggage-car and dash across the station platformto be swallowed up in the shadowy gloom of a side street. 

"I only had seven drinks, " said Shoop, gazing after the disappearingfigure. "But if Sundown ain't a pair of twins, that was him. "

"Hold on, Bud!" And Corliss laid his hand on Shoop's arm. "Don't takeafter him. That's the way to stampede him. We go easy till it'slight. He'll see us. "

They sauntered up the street and stopped opposite an "all-night"eating-house. 

"We won't advertise the Concho, this trip, " said Corliss, as theyentered. 

Shoop, with his legs curled around the counter stool, sipped his coffeeand soliloquized. "Wise old head! Never was a hotel built that wastoo good for Jack when he's travelin'. And he don't do his thinkin'with his feet, either. "

The waiter, who had retired to the semi-seclusion of the kitchen, dozedin a chair tilted back against the wall. He was awakened by a voice atthe rear door. Shoop straightened up and grinned at Corliss. Thewaiter vocalized his attitude with the brief assertion that there was"nothin' doin'. "

"It's him!" said Shoop. 

"I got the price, " came from the unseen. 

"Then you beat it around to the front, " suggested the waiter. 

Shoop called for another cup of coffee. As the waiter brought it, Sundown, hatless, begrimed, and showing the effects of an unupholsteredjourney, appeared in the doorway. Shoop turned and stood up. 

"Well, if it ain't me old pal Buddy!" exclaimed Sundown. "What youdoin' in this here burg?"

"Why, hello, Hawkins! Where'd you fall from? How's things over toHomer?"

Sundown took the hint and fabricated a heart-rending tale of anall-night ride on "a cayuse that had been tryin' to get rid of him eversince he started and had finally piled him as the Flyer tooted forUsher. "

"You do look kind o' shook-up. Better eat. "

"I sure got room, " said Sundown. "Fetch me a basket of doughnuts and apail of coffee. That there Fly--cayuse sure left me, but he didn'ttake me appetite. "

After the third cup of coffee and the seventh doughnut, Sundownasserted that he felt better. They sauntered out to the street. 

"How in blazes did you get loose?" queried Shoop, surveying the unkemptadventurer with frank amazement. 

"Blazes is correct. I clumb out of the window. "

"Set her on fire?"

"Not with mellishus extent, as the judge says. Mebby it was acigarette. I dunno. First thing I know I was dreamin' I smelt smokeand the dream sure come true. If them bars had been a leetle clostertogether, I reckon I would be tunin' a harp, right now. "

"How did you happen to jump our train--and get off here?" asked Corliss. 

"It was sure lucky, " said Sundown, grinning. "I run 'round back of thestation and snook up and crawled under the platform in front. I couldsee everybody hoppin' 'round and I figured I was safer on the job, expectin' they'd be lookin' for me to beat it out of town. Then youfellas come up and stood talkin' right over me head. Bud he sayssomethin' about eatin' breakfast in Usher, and bein' hungry and likin'good comp'ny, I waits till the train pulls up and crawls under thebaggage. And here I be. "

"We'll have to get you a hat and a coat. We'll stop at the nextbarber-shop. You wash up and get shaved. We'll wait. Then we'll headfor the court-house. "

"Me ranch?" And Sundown beamed through his grime. "Makes me feel likewritin' a pome! Now, mebby--"

"Haven't time, now. Got to scare up two more witnesses to go on yourpaper. There's a place, just opening up. "

They crossed the street. Next to the barbershop was a saloon. 

Sundown eyed the sign pensively. "I ain't a drinkin' man--regular, " hesaid, "but there are times . . . "

"There are times, " echoed Corliss, and the three filed between theswing-doors and disappeared. 

An hour later three men, evidently cow-men from their gait and bearing, passed along the main street of Usher and entered the court-house, where they were met by two citizens. The five men were admitted to theinner sanctum of the hall of justice, from which they presentlyemerged, laughing and joking. The tallest of them seemed to bereceiving the humorous congratulations of his companions. He shookhands all around and remarked half-apologetically: "I ain't a drinkin'man, reg'lar . . . But there are times . . . "

The five men drifted easily toward the swing-doors. Presently theyemerged. Shoop nudged his employer. David Loring and his daughter hadjust crossed the street. The old sheep-man glanced at the group infront of the saloon and blinked hard. Of the West, he read at a glancethe situation. Sundown, Corliss, and Shoop raised their hats asEleanor Loring bowed. 

"Beat him by a neck!" said Shoop. "Guess we better fan it, eh, Jack?"

"There's no hurry, " said Corliss easily. Nevertheless, he realizedthat Sundown's presence in Usher was quite apt to be followed by a wirefrom the sheriff of Antelope which would complicate matters, to say theleast. He shook hands with the two townsmen and assured them that thehospitality of the Concho was theirs when they chose to honor it. Thenhe turned to Bud Shoop. "Get the fastest saddle-horse in town and rideout to the South road and wait for us. I'm going to send Sundown overto Murphy's. Pat knows me pretty well. From there he can take theApache road to the Concho. We can outfit him and get him settled atthe water-hole ranch before any one finds out where he is. "

"But Jim'll get him again, " said Shoop. 

"I expect him to. That'll be all right. "

"Well, you got me. Thought I knowed somethin' about your style, but Idon't even know your name. "

"Let's move on. You go ahead and get the cayuse. I want to talk toSundown. "

Then Corliss explained his plan. He told Sundown to keep thewater-hole fenced and so keep the sheep-men from using it. This wouldvirtually control several thousand acres of range around the water-holeranch. He told Sundown that he expected him to homestead the ranch forhimself--do the necessary work to secure a title, and then at hisoption either continue as a rancher or sell the holding to the Concho. "I'll start you with some stock--a few head, and a horse or two. Allyou have to do is to 'tend to business and forget that I have everspoken to you about homesteading the place. You'll have to play italone after you get started. "

"Suits me, boss. I ain't what you'd call a farmer, but me and Chancecan scratch around and act like we was. But the smooth gent as pinchedme--ain't he goin' to come again?"

"Sure as you're wearing spurs! But you just take it easy and you'llcome out all right. Loring put Jim Banks after you. Jim is all rightand he's business. Loring wants the water-hole ranch. So do I. Now, if Loring tells the sheriff he saw you in Usher, and later at thewater-hole, Jim will begin to think that Loring is keeping pretty closetrail on you. When Jim finds out you've filed on the water-hole, --andhe already knows that Loring wants it, --he'll begin to figure thatLoring had you jailed to keep you out of his way. And you can take itfrom me, Jim Banks is the squarest man in Apache County. He'll giveyou a chance to make good. If we can keep you out of sight till hehears from over the line, I think you'll be safe after that. If wecan't, why, you still have your title to the water-hole ranch and thatholds it against trespassers. "

"Well, you're sure some shark on the long think! Say, I been scaredstiff so long I'm just commencin' to feel me legs again. The sun isshinin' and the birds are sawin' wood. I get you, boss! The old guythat owns the wool had me pinched. Well, I ain't got nothin' ag'in'him, but that don't say I ain't workin' for you. Say, if he comesbotherin' around me farm, do I shoot?"

"No. You just keep right on. Pay no attention to him. "

"Just sick Chance on him, eh?"

"He'd get Chance. I'm going to run some cattle over that way soon. Then you'll have company. You needn't be scared. "

"Cattle is some comp'ny at that. Say, have I got to ride that therebronc Bud jest went down the street on?"

"As soon as we get out of town. "

"Which wouldn't be long if we had hosses like him, eh?"

"I'll give you a note to Murphy. He'll send your horse back to Usherand let you take a fresh horse when you start for the Concho. Take iteasy, and don't talk. "

"All right, boss. But I was thinkin'--"

"What?"

"Well, it's men like me and you that puts things through. It takes aman with sand to go around this country gettin' pinched and thrun andburnt up and bein' arrested every time he goes to spit. Folks'll besayin' that there Sundown gent is a brave man--me! Never shot nobodyand dependin' on his nerve, every time. They's nothin' like havin' abad repetation. "

"Nothing like it, " assented Corliss, smiling. "Well, here's your road. Keep straight on till you cross the river. Then take the right forkand stick to it, and you'll ride right into Murphy's. He'll fix youup, all right. "

"Did you think in this note to tell him to give me a hoss that onlytravels one way to onct?" queried Sundown. 

Corliss laughed. "Yes, I told him. Don't forget you're a citizen anda homesteader. We're depending on you. "

"You bet! And I'll be there with the bells!"

Shoop and Corliss watched Sundown top a distant rise and disappear in acloud of dust. Then they walked back to the station. As they waitedfor the local, Shoop rolled a cigarette. "Jest statin' it mild andgentle, " he said, yawning, "the last couple of weeks has been kind of abusy day. Guess the fun's all over. Sundown's got a flyin' start;Loring's played his ace and lost, and you and me is plumb sober. IfI'd knowed it was goin' to be as quiet as this, I'd 'a' brought myknittin' along. "

"There are times . . . " said Corliss. 

"And we got just five minutes, " said Shoop. "Come on. "

CHAPTER XX

THE WALKING MAN

Sundown's sense of the dramatic, his love for posing, with hislinguistic ability to adopt the vernacular of the moment so impressedthe temperamental Murphy that he disregarded a portion of his friendCorliss's note, and the morning following his lean guest's arrival atthe ranch the jovial Irishman himself saddled and bridled the swiftestand most vicious horse in the corral; a glass-eyed pinto, bronc fromthe end of his switching tail to his pink-mottled muzzle. He was ahorse with a record which he did not allow to become obsolete, althoughhe had plenty of competition to contend with in the string of broncsthat Murphy's riders variously bestrode. Moreover, the pinto, likedynamite, "went off" at the most unexpected intervals, as did many ofhis riders. Sundown, bidding farewell to his host, mounted and swungout of the yard at a lope. The pinto had ideas of his own. Should hebuck in the yard, he would immediately be roped and turned into thecorral again. Out on the mesas it would be different--and it was. 

He paid no attention to a tumble-weed gyrating across the Apache road. Neither did he seem disturbed when a rattler burred in the bunch-grass. Even the startled leap of a rabbit that shot athwart his immediatecourse was greeted with nothing more than a snort and a toss of hisswinging head. Such things were excuses for bad behavior, but he wasof that type which furnishes its own excuse. He would lull his riderto a false security, and then . . . 

The pinto loped over level and rise tirelessly. Sundown stood in hisstirrups and gazed ahead. The wide mesas glowing in the sun, the senseof illimitable freedom, the keen, odorless air wrought him to a pitchof inspiration. He would, just over the next rise, draw rein and woohis muse. But the next rise and the next swept beneath the pinto'srhythmic hoofs. The poetry of motion swayed his soul. He was enjoyinghimself. At last, he reflected, he had mastered the art of sitting ahorse. He had already mastered the art of mounting and of descendingunder various conditions and at seemingly impossible angles. As HiWingle had once remarked--Sundown was the most _durable_ rider on therange. His length of limb had no apparent relation to his shortcomingsas a vaquero. 

Curiosity, as well as pride, may precede a fall. Sundown eventuallyreined up and breathed the pinto, which paced with lowered head asthough dejected and altogether weary--which was merely a pose, if anobject in motion can be said to pose. His rider, relaxing, slouched inthe saddle and dreamed of a peaceful and domestic future as owner of asmall herd of cattle, a few fenced acres of alfalfa and vegetables, asaddle-horse something like the pinto which he bestrode, with Chance ascompanion and audience--and perhaps a low-voiced seņora to welcome himat night when he rode in with spur-chains jingling and the silverconchas on his chaps gleaming like stars in the setting sun. "But mechaps did their last gleam in that there fire, " he reflected sadly. "But I got me big spurs yet. " Which after-thought served in a measureto mitigate his melancholy. Like a true knight, he had slept spurredand belted for the chance encounter while held in durance vile atAntelope. "But me ranch!" he exclaimed. "Me! And mebby a tame cowand chickens and things, --eh, Chance!" But Chance, he immediatelyrealized, was not with him. He would have a windmill and shade-treesand a border of roses along the roadway to the house--like the Loringrancho. But the seņorita to be wooed and won--that was a differentmatter. "'T ain't no woman's country nohow--this here Arizona. She'sfine! But she's a man's country every time! Only sech as me and JackCorliss and Bud and them kind is fit to take the risks of makin' goodin this here State. But we're makin' good, you calico-hoss! Listen:--

 "Oh, there's sunshine on the Concho where the little owls are cryin', And red across the 'dobe strings of chiles are a-dryin'; And if Arizona's heaven, tell me what's the use of dyin'? Yes, it's good enough down here, just breathin' air;

 "For the posies are a-bloomin' and the mockin'-birds are matin', And somewhere in Arizona there's a Chola girl a-waitin' For to cook them enchiladas while I do the irrigatin' On me little desert homestead over there. 

 "While I'm ridin' slow and easy . . . "

"Whoa! Wonder what that is? Never seen one of them things before. 'Tain't a lizard, but he looks like his pa was a lizard. Mebby his mawas a toad. Kind of a Mormon, I guess. "

He leaned forward and gravely inspected the horned toad that blinked athim from the edge of the grass. The pinto realized that his rider'sattention was otherwise and thoroughly occupied. With thatunforgettable drop of head and arch of spine the horse bucked. Sundowndid an unpremeditated evolution that would have won him much applauseand gold had he been connected with a circus. He landed in a clump ofbrush and watched his hat sail gently down. The pinto whirled and tookthe homeward road, snorting and bounding from side to side as the dustswirled behind him. Sundown scratched his head. "Lemme see. 'We wasridin', slow and easy . . . ' Huh! Well, I ain't cussin' because Idon' know how. Lemme see . . . I was facin' east when I started. NowI'm lit, and I'm facin' south. Me hat's there, and that theretoad-lizard oughter be over there, if he ain't scared to death. ReckonI'll quit writin' po'try jest at present and finish gettin' acquaintedwith that there toad-lizard. Wonder how far I got to walk? Anyhow, Iwas gettin' tired of ridin'. By gum! me eats is tied to the saddle!It's mighty queer how a fella gets set back to beginnin' all over ag'inevery onct in a while. Now, this mornin' I was settin' up ridin' agood hoss and thinkin' poetical. Now I'm settin' down restin'. Thesun is shinin' yet, and them jiggers in the brush is chirpin' and theair is fine, but I ain't thinkin' poetical. I'd sure hate to have areal lady read what I'm thinkin', if it was in a book. 'Them that setson the eggs of untruth, ' as the parson says, 'sure hatches lies. ' Jestyesterday I was tellin' in Usher how me bronc piled me when I'd beenridin' the baggage, which was kind of a hoss-lie. I must 'a' had itcomin'. "

He rose and stalked to the roadway. The horned toad, undisturbed, squatted in the grass and eyed him with bright, expressionless eyes. 

"If I was like some, " said Sundown, addressing the toad, "I'd pull mesix-shooter, only I ain't got it now, and bling you to nothin'. Accordin' to law you're the injudicious cause preceding the act, whichmakes you guilty accordin' to the statues of this here commonwealth, and I seen lots of 'em on the same street, in Boston, scarin' hosses todeath and makin' kids and nuss-girls cry. But I ain't goin' to shootyou. If I was to have the sayin' of it, I'd kind o' like to shoot thathoss, though. He broke as fine a pome in the middle as I ever writ, tosay nothin' of hurtin' me personal feelin's. Well, so-long, leetletoad-lizard. Just tell them that you saw me--and they will know therest--if anybody was to ask you, a empty saddle and a man a-foot in thedesert is sure circumvential evidence ag'in the hoss. Wonder how farit is to the Concho?"

With many a backward glance, inspired by fond imaginings that the pinto_might_ have stopped to graze, Sundown stalked down the road. Waif ofchance and devotee of the goddess "Maybeso, " he rose sublimely superiorto the predicament in which he found himself. "The only reason I'mgoin' east is because I ain't goin' west, " he told himself, ignoring, with warm adherence to the glowing courses of the sun the frigidpossibilities of the poles. Warmed by the exercise of plodding acrossthe mesa trail in high-heeled boots, he swung out of his coat and slungit across his shoulder. Dust gathered in the wrinkles of his boots, and more than once he stopped to mop his sweating face with hisbandanna. Rise after rise swept gently before him and within the hourhe saw the misty outline of the blue hills to the south. Slowly hismoving shadow shifted, bobbing in front of him as the sun slippedtoward the western horizon. A little breeze sighed along the road andwhirls of sand spun in tiny cones around the roots of the chaparral. He reached in his pocket, drew forth a silver dollar, and examined it. "Now if they weren't any folks on this here earth, I reckon silver andgold and precious jools wouldn't be worth any more than rocks and mudand gravel, eh? Why, even if they weren't no folks, water would beworth more to this here world than gold. Water makes things growand--and keeps a fella from gettin' thirsty. And mud makes thingsgrow, too, but I dunno what rocks are for. Just to sit on when you'retired, I reckon. " The sibilant burring of a rattler in the brush sethis neck and back tingling. "And what snakes was made for, gets me!They ain't good to eat, nohow. And they ain't friendly like some ofthe bugs and things. I'm thinkin' that that there snake what clumb thetree and got Mrs. Eve interested in the apple business would 'a' been awhole lot better for folks, if he'd 'a' stayed up that tree and died, instead o' runnin' around and raisin' young ones. Accordin' to my wayof thinkin' a garden ain't a garden with a snake in it, nohow. Now, Mrs. Eve--if she'd had to take a hammer and nails and make a ladder toget to them apples, by the time she got the ladder done I reckon themapples wouldn't 'a' looked so good to her. That's what comes of havin'a snake handy. 'Course, bein' a woman, she jest nacherally couldn'twait for 'em to get ripe and fall off the tree. That would 'a' beentoo easy. It sure is funny how folks goes to all kinds o' trouble toget into it. Mebby she did get kind o' tired eatin' the samebreakfast-food every mornin'. Lots o' folks do, and hankers to try anew one. But I never got tired of drinkin' water yet. Wisht I had abarrel with ice in it. Gee Gosh! Ice! Mebby a cup of water would beenough for a fella, but when he's dry he sure likes to see lots aheadeven if he can't drink it all. Mebby it's jest knowin' it's there thatkind o' eases up a fella's thirst. I dunno. "

Romance, as romance was wont to do at intervals, lay in wait for theweary Sundown. Hunger and thirst and a burning sun may not beimmediately conducive to poetry or romantic imaginings. But the 'dobein the distance shaded by a clump of trees, the gleam of the dryingchiles, the glow of flowers, offered an acceptable antithesis to thebarren roadway and the empty mesas. Sundown quickened his pace. Eden, though circumscribed by a barb-wire fence enclosing scant territory, invited him to rest and refresh himself. And all unexpected theimmemorial Eve stood in the doorway of the 'dobe, gazing down the roadand doubtless wondering why this itinerant Adam, booted and spurred, chose to walk the dusty highway. 

At the gate of the homestead Sundown paused and raised his broadsombrero. Anita, dusky and buxom daughter of Chico Miguel, "the littlehombre with the little herd, " as the cattle-men described him, nodded abashful acknowledgment of the salute, and spoke sharply to the dogwhich had risen and was bristling toward the Strange wayfarer. 

"Agua, " said Sundown, opening the gate, "Mucha agua, Senorita, " adding, with a humorous gesture of drinking, "I'm dry clean to me boots. "

The Mexican girl, slow-eyed and smiling, gazed at this most wonderfulman, of such upstanding height that his hat brushed the limbs of theshade-trees at the gateway. Anita was plump and not tall. As Sundownstalked up the path assuming an air of gallantry that was not wasted onthe desert air, the girl stepped to the olla hanging in the shade andoffered him the gourd. Sundown drank long and deep. Anita watched himwith wondering eyes. Such a man she had never seen. Vaqueros? Ah, yes! many of them, but never such a man as this. This one smiled, yethis face had much of the sadness in it. He had perhaps walked manyweary miles in the heat. Would he--with a gesture interpreting herspeech--be pleased to rest awhile? Without hesitation, he would. Ashe sat on the doorstep gazing contentedly at the flowers bordering thepath, Anita's mother appeared from some mysterious recess of the 'dobeand questioned Anita with quick low utterance. The girl's answer, interpretable to Sundown only by its intonation, was music to him. TheMexican woman, more than buxom, large-eyed and placid, turned toSundown, who rose and again doffed his sombrero. 

"I lost me horse--back there. I'm headed for the Concho--ma'am. Concho, " he reiterated in a louder tone. "Sabe?"

The mother of Anita nodded. "You sick?" she asked. 

"What? Me? Not on your life, lady! I'm the healthiest Ho--puncher inthis here State. You sabe Concho?"

"Si! Zhack Corlees--'Juan, ' we say. Si! You of him?"

"Yes, lady. I'm workin' for him. Lost me hoss. "

Anita and her mother exchanged glances. Sundown felt that his statusas a vaquero was in question. Would he let the beautiful Anita knowthat he had been ignominiously "piled" by that pinto horse? Not he. "Circumventions alters cases, " he soliloquized, not altogetheruntruthfully. Then aloud, "Me hoss put his foot in a gopher-hole. Bruk his leg, and I had to shoot him, lady. Hated to part with him. "And the inventive Sundown illustrated with telling gesture theimaginary accident. 

Sympathy flowed freely from the gentle-hearted Seņora and her daughter. "Si!" It was not of unusual happening that horses met with suchaccidents. It was getting late in the afternoon. Would theunfortunate caballero accept of their hospitality in the way offrijoles and some of the good coffee, perhaps? Sundown would, withoutquestion. He pressed a dollar into the palm of the reluctant Seņora. He was not a tramp. Of that she might be assured. He had met withmisfortune, that was all. And would the patron return soon? Thepatron would return with the setting of the sun. Meanwhile the vaqueroof the Concho was to rest and perhaps enjoy his cigarette? And the"vaquero" loafed and smoked many cigarettes while the glowing eyes ofAnita shone upon him with large sympathy. As yet Sundown had notespecially noticed her, but returning from his third visit to thecooling olla, he caught her glance and read, or imagined he read, deepadmiration, lacking words to utter. From that moment he became achanged man. He shed his weariness as a tattered garment is thrownaside. He straightened his shoulders and held his head high. At lasta woman had looked at him and had not smiled at his ungainly stature. Nay! But rather seemed impressed, awe-stricken, amazed. And his heartquickened to faster rhythm, driving the blood riotously through hisimaginative mind. He grew eloquent, in gesture, if not in speech. Hetold of his wanderings, his arrival at the Concho, of Chance his greatwolf-dog, his horse "Pill, " and his good friends Bud Snoop and HiWangle. Sundown could have easily given Othello himself "cards andspades" in this chance game of hearts and won--moving metaphor!--in acanter. That the little Seņorita with the large eyes did notunderstand more than a third of that which she heard made no differenceto her. His ambiguity of utterance, backed by assurance and illuminedby the divine fire of inspiration, awakened curiosity in the placidbreast of this Desdemona of the mesas. It required no sophisticationon her part to realize that this caballero was not as the vaqueros shehad heretofore known. He made no boorish jests; his eyes were not asthe eyes of many that had gazed at her in a way that had tinged herdusky cheeks with warm resentment. She felt that he was endeavoring tointerest her, to please her rather than to woo. And more than that--heseemed intensely interested in his own brave eloquence. A child couldhave told that Sundown was single-hearted. And with the instinct of achild--albeit eighteen, and quite a woman in her way--Anita approved ofthis adventurer as she had never approved of men, or man, before. Hisgreat height, his long, sweeping arms, moving expansively as heillustrated this or that incident, his silver spurs, his loose-jointed"tout ensemble, " so to speak, combined with an eloquent though puzzlingmanner of speech, fascinated her. Warmed to his work, and forgetful ofhis employer's caution in regard to certain plans having to do with thewater-hole ranch, Sundown elaborated, drawing heavily on futurepossibilities, among which he towered in imagination monarch of richmellow acres and placid herds. He intimated delicately that arancher's life was lonely at best, and enriched the tender intimationwith the assurance that he was more than fond of enchiladas, frijoles, carne-con-chile, tamales, adding as an afterthought that he wassomewhat of an expert himself in "wrastlin' out" pies and doughnuts andvarious other gastronomical delicacies. 

A delicate frown touched the gentle Anita's smooth forehead when hermother interrupted Sundown with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate offrijoles, yet Anita realized, as she saw his ardent expression when thearoma of the coffee reached him, that this was a most sensible andfitting climax to his glowing discourse. Her frown vanished togetherwith the coffee and beans. 

Fortified by the strong black coffee and the nourishing frijoles, Sundown rose from his seat on the doorstep and betook himself to theback of the house where he labored with an axe until he had accumulatedquite a pile of firewood. Then he rolled up his sleeves, washed hishands, and asked permission to prepare the evening meal. Although alittle astonished, the Seņora consented, and watched Sundown, at firstwith a smile of indulgence, then with awakening curiosity, and finallywith frank and complimentary amazement as he deftly kneaded and rolledpie-crust and manufactured a pie that eventually had, for thoseimmediately concerned, historical significance. 

The "little hombre, " Chico Miguel, returning to his 'dobe that evening, was greeted with a tide of explanatory utterances that swept him offhis feet. He was introduced to Sundown, apprised of the strangeguest's manifold accomplishments, and partook of the substantialevidence of his skill until of the erstwhile generous pie there wasnothing left save tender reminiscence and replete satisfaction. 

Later in the evening, when the Arizona stars glowed and shimmered onthe shadowy adobe, when the wide mesas grew mysteriously beautiful inthe soft radiance of the slow moon, Chico Miguel brought his guitarfrom the bedroom, tuned it, and struck a swaying cadence from itsstrings. Then Anita's voice, blending with the rhythm, made melody, and Sundown sat entranced. Mood, environment, temperament, lentromance to the simple song. Every singing string on the old guitar wassilver--the singer's girlish voice a sunlit wave of gold. 

The bleak and almost barren lives of these isolated folk becameillumined with a reminiscent glow as the tinkling notes of the guitarhushed to faint echoes of fairy bells hung on the silver boughs ofstarlit trees. "Adios, linda Rosa, " ran the song. Then silence, thesummer night, the myriad stars. 

Sundown, turning his head, gazed spellbound at the dark-eyed singinggirl. In the dim light of the lamp she saw that his lean cheeks werewet with tears. 

CHAPTER XXI

ON THE MESA

With the morning sun came a brave, cloudless day and a more jovial moodto Sundown as he explained the necessity for haste to the Concho. Chico Miguel would gladly furnish horse and saddle. Juan Corlees wasof men the finest! Once upon a time, in fact, Chico Miguel had riddenrange for the father of Seņor Corlees, but that was in years long past, Ah, yes! Then there were no sheep in the country--nothing but cattleand vaqueros. Would the caballero accept the loan of horse and saddle?The horse could be returned at his convenience. And possibly--and hereChico Miguel paused to roll a cigarette, light it, and smoke awhilereflectively--and possibly the caballero would again make their humblehome beautiful with his presence. Such pie as the Seņor made was a notunworthy meal for the saints. Indeed, Chico Miguel himself had hadmany pleasant dreams following their feast of the evening before. Would Sundown condescend to grace their home with his presence againand soon? Sundown would, be Gosh! He sure did like music, especiallythem Spanish songs what made a fella kind of shivery and sad-like fromhis boots up. And that part of the country looked good to him. Infact he was willing to be thrun from--er--have his hoss step in agopher-hole any day if the accident might terminate as pleasantly ashad his late misfortune. He aspired to become a master of the art ofcooking Mexican dishes. 'Course at reg'lar plain-cookin' and desertshe wasn't such a slouch, but when it come to spreadin' the chile, hewasn't, as yet, an expert. 

Meanwhile he clung tenaciously to the few Spanish words he knew, addedto which was "Linda Rosa"--"pretty rose, "--which he intended to usewith telling effect when he made his adieux. After breakfast he roseand disappeared. When he again entered the house the keen Seņoranoticed that his shirt front swelled expansively just above his heart. She wondered if the tall one had helped himself to a few of her belovedchiles. 

Presently Chico Miguel appeared with the pony. Sundown mounted, hesitated, and then nodded farewell to the Seņora and the almosttearful Anita who stood in the doorway. Things were not as Sundownwould have had them. He was long of arm and vigorous, but to cast abouquet of hastily gathered and tied flowers from the gateway to thehand of the Seņorita would require a longer arm and a surer aim thanhis. "Gee Gosh!" he exclaimed, dismounting hurriedly. "What's that onhis hind foot?"

He referred to the horse. Chico Miguel, at the gate, hastened toexamine the pony, but Sundown, realizing that the Seņorita still stoodbeside her mother, must needs create further delay. He stepped to thepony and, assuming an air of experience, reached to take up the horse'sfoot and examine it. The horse, possibly realizing that its foot wassound, resented Sundown's solicitude. The upshot--used advisedly--ofit was that Sundown found himself sitting in the road and Chico Miguelstruggling with the pony. 

With a scream Anita rushed to the gateway, wringing her hands asSundown rose stiffly and felt of his shirt front. The flowers that hehad picked for his adored, were now literally pressed to his bosom. Hewondered if they "were mushed up much?" Yet he was not unhappy. Hisgrand climax was at hand. Again he mounted the pony, turned to theSeņorita, and, drawing the more or less mangled blossoms from hisshirt, presented them to her with sweeping gallantry. Anita blushedand smiled. Sundown raised his hat. "Adios! Adios! Mucha adios!Seņorita! For you sure are the lindaest little linda rosa of the wholebunch!" he said. 

And with Anita standing in rapt admiration, Chico Miguel wondering ifthe kick of the horse had not unsettled the strange caballero's reason, and the Seņora blandly aware that her daughter and the tall one hadbecome adepts in interpreting the language of the eyes, Sundown rodeaway in a cloud of dust, triumphantly joyous, yet with a peculiarsensation in the region of his heart, where the horse had kicked him. When he realized that admiring eyes could not follow him forever, hechecked the horse and rubbed his chest. 

"It hurts, all right! but hoss-shoes is a sign of _luck_--and posies isa sign of _love_--and them two signs sure come together this mornin'. 'Oh, down in Arizona there's a--' No, I reckon I won't be temptin'Providence ag'in. This hoss might have some kind of a dislikin' fortoad-lizards and po'try mixed, same as the other one. I can jest kindo' work the rest of that poem up inside and keep her on the icetill--er--till she's the right flavor. Wonder how they're makin' it atthe Concho? Guess I'll stir along. Mebby they're waitin' for me toshow up so's they can get busy. I dunno. It sure is wonderful what alot is dependin' on me these here days. I'm gettin' to be kind of acenter figure in this here country. Lemme see. Now I brukjail--hopped the Limited, took out me homesteader papers, got thrun offa hoss, slumped right into love with that sure-enough Linda Rosa, andgot kicked by another hoss. And they say I ain't a enterprisin' guy!Gee Gosh!"

Never so much at home as when alone, the mellifluous Sundown'simagination expanded, till it embraced the farthest outpost of histheme. He became the towering center of things terrestrial. The worldrevolved around but one individual that glorious morning, and hegenerously decided to let it revolve. He felt--being, for the firsttime in his weird career, very much in love--that Dame Fortune, so longindifferent to his modest aspirations, had at last recognized in him atrue adventurer worthy of her grace. He was a remarkable man, physically. He considered himself a remarkable man mentally, and hewas, in Arizona. "Why, " he announced to his horse, "they's folks assays they ain't no romantics left in this here world! Huh! Some ofthem writin' folks oughter jest trail my smoke for a week, instead o'settin' in clubs and drinkin' high-balls and expectin' them high-ballsto put 'em wise to real life! Huh! A fella's got to sweat it outhimself. The kind of romantics that comes in a bottle ain't the realthing. Pickles is all right, but they ain't cucumbers, nohow. Wisht Ihad one--and some salt. The stories them guys write is like pickles, jest two kinds of flavor, sweet and sour. Now, when I write me life'shistory she'll be a cucumber sliced thin with a few of them little redchiles to kind o' give the right kick, and mebby a leetle onionrepresentin' me sentiment, and salt to draw out the proper taste, and'bout three drops o' vinegar standin' for hard luck, and the hull thingfixed tasty-like on a lettuce leaf, the crinkles representin' themountings and valleys of this here world, and me name on the cover inred with gold edges. Gee Gosh!"

The creak of the saddle, the tinkle of his spurs, the springy stride ofthe horse furnished a truly pastoral accompaniment to Sundown's"romantics. "

As he rode down a draw, he came suddenly upon two coyotes playing likepuppies in the sun. He reined up and watched them, and his heartwarmed to their antics. "Now, 'most any fella ridin' range wouldnacherally pull his gun and bling at 'em. What for? Search me! Theyain't botherin' nobody. Jest playin'. Guess 'most any animals like toplay if they wasn't scared o' gettin' shot all the time. Funny howsome folks got to kill everything they see runnin' wild. What's theuse? Now, mebby them coyotes is a pa and ma thinkin' o' settin' upranchin' and raisin' alfalfa and young ones. Or mebby he's justa-courtin' her and showin' how he can run and jump better than anyother coyote she ever seen. I dunno. There they go. Guess they seenme. Say! but they are jest floatin' across the mesa--they ain'trunnin'. Goin' easy, like their legs belonged to somebody else andthey was jest keepin' up with 'em. So-long, folks! Here's hopin' youget settled on that coyote-ranch all right!"

Thus far on his journey Sundown had enjoyed the pleasing local flavorof the morning and his imaginings. The vinegar, which was to represent"hard luck, " had not as yet been added to the salad. 

As he ascended the gentle slope of the draw he heard a quick, bluntsound, as though some one had struck a drum and immediately muffled thereverberations with the hand. He was too deeply immersed in himself topay much attention to this. Topping the rise, the fresh vista ofrolling mesa, the far blue hills, and a white dot--the distantConcho--awakened him to a realization of his whereabouts. Again heheard that peculiar, dull sound. He lifted his horse to a lope andswept along, the dancing shadow at his side shortening as noon overtookhim. He was about to dismount and partake of the luncheon the kindlySeņora had prepared for him, when he changed his mind. "Lunch andhunch makes a rhyme, " he announced. "And I got 'em both. Guess I'lljog along and eat at the Concho. Mebby I'll get there in two, threehours. "

As the white dot took on a familiar outline and the eastern wall of thecaņon of the Concho showed sharply against the sky, he saw a horseman, strangely doubled up in the saddle, riding across the mesa toward theranch-house. Evidently he also was going to the Concho. Possibly itwas Bud, or Hi Wingle, or Lone Johnny. Following an interval ofattending strictly to the trail he raised his eyes. He pulled hishorse up and sat blinking. Where there had been a horse and riderthere was but the horse, standing with lowered head. He shaded hiseyes with his palm and gazed again. There stood the horse. The manhad disappeared. "Fell into one of them Injun graves, " remarkedSundown. "Guess I'll go see. "

It took much longer than he had anticipated to come up with theriderless horse. He recognized it as one of the Concho ponies. Almostbeneath the animal lay a huddled something. Sundown's scalp tingled. Slowly he got from his horse and stalked across the intervening space. He led the pony from the tumbled shape on the ground. Then he kneltand raised the man's shoulders. Sinker, one of the Concho riders, groaned and tore at the shirt over his stomach. Then Sundown knew. Heeased the cowboy back and called his name. Slowly the gray lidsopened. "It's me, Sundown! Who done it?"

The cowboy tried to rise on his elbow. Sundown supported his head, questioning him, for he knew that Sinker had but little time left tospeak. The wounded man writhed impotently, then quieted. 

"God, Sun!" he moaned, "they got me. Tell Jack--Mexican--Loring--sheepat--waterhole. Tried to bluff--'em off--orders not to shoot. They gotorders to shoot--all right. Tell Jack--Guess I'm bleedin'inside--So-long--pardner. "

The dying man writhed from Sundown's arms and rolled to his face, cursing and clutching at the grass in agony. Sundown stood over him, his hat off, his gaze lifted toward the cloudless sky, his face whitewith a new and strange emotion. He raised his long arms and clenchedhis hands. "God A'mighty, " he whispered, rocking back and forth, "Igot to tell You that sech things is _wrong_. And from what I seensence I come to this country, You don't care. But some of us doescare . . . And I reckon we got to do somethin' if You don't. "

[Illustration: "God A'mighty, sech things is wrong. "]

The cowboy raised himself on rigid arms, he lifted his head, and hiseyes, filmed with the chill of death, grew clear for an instant. "'Sandro--the herder--got me, " he gasped. His lips writhed back fromhis clenched teeth. A rush of blood choked him. He sank to theground, quivered, and was still. 

"'Sandro . . . The herder" . . . Whispered Sundown. "Sinker was mefriend. I reckon God's got to leave the finish of this to me. "

CHAPTER XXII

WAIT!

To see a man's life go out and to stand by unable to help, unable tooffer comfort or ease mortal agony, is a bitter experience. It bringsthe beholder close to the abyss of eternity, wherein the world shrinksto a speck of whirling dust and the sun is but a needle-point of light. Then it is that the fleshless face of the unconquerable One leans closeand whispers, not to the insensate clay that mocks the living, but tothe impotent soul that mourns the dead. 

That Sundown should consider himself morally bound to become one ofthose who he knew would avenge the killing of the cowboy, and withoutrecourse to law, was not altogether strange. The iron had entered hissoul. Heretofore at loose ends with the world, the finding of Sinker, dying on the mesas, kindled within him righteous wrath against thecircumstance rather than the individual slayer. His meanderingthoughts and emotions became crystallized. His energies hardened to aset purpose. He was obsessed with a fanaticism akin to that of thosewho had burned witches and thanked their Maker for the opportunity. 

In his simple way he wondered why he had not wept. He rode slowly tothe Concho. Chance leaped circling about his horse. He greeted thedog with a word. When he dismounted, Chance cringed and crept to him. Without question this was his master, and yet there was something inSundown's attitude that silenced the dog's joyous welcoming. Chancesat on his haunches, whined, and did his best by his own attitude toshow that he was in sympathy with his master's strange mood. 

John Corliss saw instantly that there was something wrong, and hishearty greeting lapsed into terse questioning. Sundown pointed towardthe northern mesas. 

"What's up?" he queried. 

"Sinker--he's dead--over there. "

"Sinker?" Corliss ran to the corral, calling to Wingle, who came fromthe bunk-house. The cook whisked off his apron, grabbed his hat, andfollowed Corliss. "Sinker's done for!" said Corliss. "Saddle up, Hi. Sun found him out there. Must have had trouble at the water-hole. Ishould have sent another man with him. "

Wingle, with the taciturnity of the plainsman, jerked the cinchas tightand swung to the saddle. Sinker's death had come like a white-hotflash of lightning from the bulked clouds that had shadowed disasterimpending--and in that shadow the three men rode silently toward thenorth. Again Corliss questioned Sundown. Tense with the stress of anemotion that all but sealed his lips, Sundown turned his white face toCorliss and whispered, "Wait!" The rancher felt that that one terse, whispered word implied more than he cared to imagine. There wassomething uncanny about the man. If the killing of Sinker could sochange the timorous, kindly Sundown to this grim, unbending epitome oflean death and vengeance, what could he himself do to check the wildfury of his riders when they heard of their companion's passing fromthe sun?

Sinker's horse, grazing, lifted its head and nickered as they rode up. They dismounted and turned the body over. Wingle, kneeling, examinedthe cowboy's six-gun. 

Corliss, in a burst of wrath, turned on Sundown. "Damn you, open yourmouth. What do you know about this?"

Sundown bit his nails and glowered at Corliss. "God A'mighty sentme--" he began. 

With a swift gesture Corliss interrupted. "You're working for theConcho. Was he dead when you found him?"

Sundown slowly raised his arm and pointed across the mesa. 

Corliss fingered his belt and bit his lip impatiently. 

"A herder--over there to my ranch--done it. Sinker told me--'fore hecrossed over. Said it was 'Sandro. Said he had orders not to shoot. He tried to bluff 'em off, for they was bringin' sheep to thewater-hole. He said to tell you. "

Corliss and Wingle turned from looking at Sundown and gazed at eachother. "If that's right--" And the rancher hesitated. 

"I reckon it's right, " said Wingle. And he stooped and together theylifted the body and laid it across the cowboy's horse. 

Sundown watched them with burning eyes. "We'll ride back home, " saidCorliss, motioning to him. 

"Home? Ain't you goin' to do nothin'?"

Corliss shook his head. Sundown slowly mounted and followed them tothe Concho. He watched them as they carried Sinker to the bunkhouse. 

When Corliss reappeared, Sundown strode up to him. "This here hossbelongs to that leetle Mexican on the Apache road, Chico Miguel--saidyou knowed him. I was goin' to take him back with my hoss. Now Ireckon I can't. I kind o' liked it over there to his place. I guess Iwant my own hoss, Pill. "

"I guess you better get something to eat and rest up. You're in badshape, Sun. "

Sundown shook his head. "I got somethin' to do--after that mebby I canrest up. Can I have me hoss?"

"Yes, if it'll do you any good. What are you going to do?"

"I got me homesteader papers. I'm goin' to me ranch. "

"But you're not outfitted. There's no grub there. You better take iteasy. You'll feel better to-morrow. "

"I don't need no outfit. I reckon I'll saddle Pill. "

Sundown turned the Mexican's pony into the corral and saddled his ownhorse which he led to the bunk-house. "I ain't got no gun, " he said. "The sheriff gent's got mine. Mebby you'd be lendin' me one?"

Wingle stepped to the doorway and stood beside Corliss. "What does hewant, Jack?"

"He's loco. Wants to borrow a gun. " The rancher turned to Sundown. "See here, Sun, there's no use thinking you've got to take a hand inthis. Some of the boys'll get the Mexican sure! I can't stop them, but I don't want you to get in trouble. "

"No. You come on in and eat, " said Wingle. "You got a touch of sun, Iguess. "

Sundown mounted. "Ain't you goin' to do nothin'?" he asked again. 

Corliss and Wingle glanced at each other. "No, not now. "

"Then me and Chance is, " said Sundown. "Come on, Chance. "

Corliss and the cook watched the tall figure as it passed through thegateway and out to the mesa. "I'll go head him off, if you say theword, Jack. "

Corliss made a negative gesture. "He'll come back when he gets hungry. It's a long ride to the water-hole. Sinker had sand to get as nearhome as he did. It's going to be straight hell from now on, Hi. "

Wingle nodded. Through force of habit he reached for his apron to wipehis hand--his invariable preliminary before he shook hands with anyone. His apron being off, he hesitated, then stepped to his employer. "It sure is, " he said, "and I'm ridin' with you. "

They shook hands. Moved by a mutual impulse they glanced at the long, rigid shape covered with a blanket. "When the boys come--" beganWingle. 

"It will be out of our hands, " concluded Corliss. 

"If Sun--"

"I ought to ride out after him, " said Corliss, nodding. "But I can'tleave. And you can't. "

Wingle stepped to the doorway and shaded his eyes. Far out on the mesathe diminishing figure of a horseman showed black against the glare ofthe sun. Wingle turned and, with a glance at the shrouded figure onthe bunk-house floor, donned his apron and shuffled to the kitchen. Corliss tied his horse and strode to the office. 

Hi Wingle puttered about the kitchen. There would be supper to get forfifteen hungry--No! fourteen, to-night. He paused, set down the panthat he held and opened the door of the chuck-room. With fingermarking the count he totaled the number of chairs at the table. Fifteen. Then he stepped softly to the bunk-room, took Sinker's hatand stepped back to the table. He placed the hat on the dead cowboy'schair. Then he closed the door and turned to the preparation of theevening meal. "Jack'll report to Antelope and try and keep the boysquiet. I'm sure with Jack--only I was a puncher first afore I took tocookin'. And I'm a puncher yet--inside. " Which was his singular andonly spoken tribute to the memory of Sinker. He had reasoned that itwas only right and fitting that the slayer of a cowman should be slainby a cowman--a code that held good in his time and would hold goodnow--especially when the boys saw the battered Stetson, every line ofwhich was mutely eloquent of its owner's individuality. 

Sundown drifted through the afternoon solitudes, his mind dulled by themonotony of the theme which obsessed him. It was evening when hereached the water-hole. Around the enclosure straggled a few straysheep. He cautioned Chance against molesting them. Ordinarily hewould have approached the ranch-house timidly, but he was beyond fear. He rode to the gate, tied his horse, and stepped to the doorway. Thedoor was open. He entered and struck a match. In the dusk he saw thatthe room was empty save for a tarpaulin and a pair of rawhide kyackssuch as the herders use. Examining the kyacks he found that theycontained flour, beans, salt, sugar, and coffee. Evidently the herdershad intended making the deserted ranch-house their headquarters. Hewondered vaguely where the Mexicans were. The thought that they mightreturn did not worry him. He knew what he would do in that instance. He would find out which one was 'Sandro . . . And then . . . 

The bleating of the stray sheep annoyed him. He told Chance to stay inthe room. Then he stalked out and opened the gate. "Mebby they wantwater. I dunno. Them's Loring's sheep, all right, but they ain't toblame for--for Sinker. " With the idea came a more reasonable mood. The sheep were not to blame for the killing of Sinker. The sheepbelonged to Loring. The herders, also, practically belonged to Loring. They were only following his bidding when they protected the sheep. With such reasoning he finally concluded that Loring, not his herder, was responsible for the cowboy's death. He returned to the house, built a fire, and cooked an indifferent meal. 

Sundown sat up suddenly. In the dim light of the moon flickeringthrough the dusty panes he saw Chance standing close to the door withneck bristling and head lowered. Throwing back his blanket he rose andwhispered to the dog. Chance came to him obediently. Sundown saw thatthe dog was trembling. He motioned him back and stepped to the door. His slumbers had served to restore him to himself in a measure. Hisold timidity became manifest as he hesitated, listening. In theabsolute silence of the night he thought he heard a shuffling as ofsomething being dragged across the enclosure. Tense with anticipatinghe knew not what, he listened. Again he heard that peculiar slitheringsound. He opened the door an inch and peered out. In the pallid glowof the moon he beheld a shapeless object that seemed to be crawlingtoward him. Something in the helpless attitude of the object suggestedSinker as he had risen on his arm, endeavoring to tell of the disasterwhich had overtaken him. With a gesture of scorn at his own fear heswung open the door. Chance crept at his heels, whining. Then Sundownstepped out and stood gazing at the strange figure on the ground. Notuntil a groan of agony broke the utter silence did he realize that thenight had brought to him a man, wounded and suffering terribly. "Whoare you?" he questioned, stooping above the man. The other draggedhimself to Sundown's feet and clawed at his knees. "'Sandro . . . Itis--that I--die. You don' keel . . . You don' . . . "

Sundown dragged the herder to the house and into the bedroom. He gotwater, for which the herder called piteously. With his own blanket hemade him as comfortable as he could. Then he built a fire that hemight have light. The herder was shot through the thigh, and had allbut bled to death dragging himself across the mesa from where he hadfallen from his horse. Sundown tried to stop the bleeding with stripstorn from his bandanna. Meanwhile the wounded man was imploring himnot to kill him. 

"I'm doin' me best to fix you up, Dago, " said Sundown. "But you bettergo ahead and say them prayers--and you might put in a couple for Sinkerwhat you shot. I reckon his slug cut the big vein and you got to go. Wisht I could do somethin' . . . To help . . . You stay . . . But mebbyit's better that you cross over easy. Then the boys don't get you. "

The Mexican seemed to understand. He nodded as he lay gazing at thelean figure illumined by the dancing light of the open stove. "Si. You good hombre, si, " he gasped. 

Sundown frowned. "Now, don't you take any idea like that along toglory with you. Sinker--what you shot--was me friend. I ought to killyou like a snake. But God A'mighty took the job off me hands. Ireckon that makes me square with--with Sinker--and Him. "

Again Sundown brought water to the herder. Gently he raised his headand held the cup to his lips. Chance stood in the middle of the roomstrangely subdued, yet he watched each movement of his master withalert eyes. The moonlight faded from the window and the fire dieddown. The air became chill as the faint light of dawn crept in toemphasize the ghastly picture--the barren, rough-boarded room, therusted stove, the towering figure of Sundown, impassively waiting; andthe shattered, shrunken figure of the Mexican, hopeless and helpless, as the morning mesas welcomed the golden glow of dawn and a new day. 

The herder, despite his apparent torpor, was the first to hear thefaint thud of hoofs in the loose sand of the roadway. He grewinstantly alert, raising himself on his elbow and gazing with fear-wideeyes toward the south. 

Sundown nodded. "It's the boys, " he said, as though speaking tohimself. "I was hopin' he could die easy. I dunno. "

'Sandro raised his hands and implored Sundown to save him from theriders. Sundown stepped to the window. He saw the flash of spurs andbits as a group of the Concho boys swept down the road. One of themwas leading a riderless horse. In a flash he realized that they hadfound the herder's horse and had tracked 'Sandro to the water-hole. Hebacked away from the window and reaching down took the Mexican's gunfrom its holster. "'T ain't what I figured on, " he muttered. "They'sme friends, but this is me ranch. "

With a rush and a slither of hoofs in the loose sand the Concho riders, headed by Shoop, swung up to the gate and dismounted. Sundown steppedto the doorway, Chance beside him. 

Shoop glanced quickly at the silent figure. Then his gaze drifted tothe ground. 

"'Mornin', Sun! Seen anybody 'round here this mornin'?"

"Mornin', fellas. Nope. Just me and Chance. "

The men hesitated, eyeing Sundown suspiciously. 

Corliss stepped toward the ranch-house. 

"Guess we'll look in, " he said, and stepped past Shoop. 

Sundown had closed the door of the bedroom. He was at a loss toprevent the men entering the house, but once within the house hedetermined that they should not enter the bedroom. 

He backed toward it and stood with one shoulder against the lintel. "Come right in. I ain't got to housekeepin' yet, but . . . "

He ceased speaking as he saw Corliss's gaze fixed on the kyacks. "Where did you get 'em?" queried the rancher. 

The men crowded in and gazed curiously at the kyacks--then at Sundown. 

Shoop strode forward. "The game's up, Sun. We want the Mexican. "

"This is me ranch, " said Sundown. "I got the papers--here. You fellasis sure welcome--only they ain't goin' to be no shootin' or such-like. I ain't joshin' this time. "

A voice broke the succeeding silence. "If the Mexican is in there, wewant him--that's all. "

Sundown's eyes became bright with a peculiar expression. Slowly--yetbefore any one could realize his intent--he reached down and drew theMexican's gun. "You're me friends, " he said quietly. "He's inthere--dyin'. I reckon Sinker got him. He drug himself here lastnight and I took him in. This is me home--and if you fellas is _men_, you'll let him die easy and quiet. "

"I'm from Missouri, " said Shoop, with a hard laugh. "You got to showme that he's--like you say, or--"

Sundown leveled his gun at Shoop. "I ain't lyin' to you, Bud. Sinkerwas me friend. And I ain't lyin' when I says that the fust fella thattries to tech him crosses over afore he does. "

Some one laughed. Corliss touched Shoop's arm and whispered to him. With a curse the foreman turned and the men clumped out to the yard. 

"He's right, " said Corliss. "We'll wait. "

They stood around talking and commenting upon Sundown's defense of theMexican. 

"'Course we could 'a' got him, " said Shoop, "but it don't set rightwith me to be stood up by a tenderfoot. Sundown's sure loco. "

"I don't know, Bud. He's queer, all right, but this is his ranch. He's got a right to order us out. "

Shoop was about to retort when Sundown came to the doorway. "I guessyou can come in now, " he said. "And you won't need no gun. " The menshuffled awkwardly, and finally led by Corliss they filed into the roomand one by one they stepped to the open door of the bedroom and gazedwithin. Then they filed out silently. 

"I'll send over some grub, " said Corliss as they mounted. Sundownnodded. 

The band of riders moved slowly back toward the Concho. About halfwayon their homeward journey they met Loring in a buckboard. The oldsheep-man drove up and would have passed them without speaking had notCorliss reined across the road and halted him. 

"One of your herders--'Sandro--is over at the water-hole, " saidCorliss. "If you're headed for Antelope, you might stop by and takehim along. "

Loring glared at the Concho riders, seemed about to speak, but insteadclucked to his team. The riders reined out of his way and he sweptpast, gazing straight ahead, grim, silent, and utterly without fear. He understood the rancher's brief statement, and he already knew of thekilling of Sinker. 'Sandro's assistant, becoming frightened, had lefthis wounded companion on the mesas, and had ridden to the Loring ranchowith the story of the fight and its ending. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PEACEMAKER

"But I ain't no dove--more like a stork, I guess, " reflected Sundown ashe stood in the doorway of his house. "And storks bringsresponsibilities in baskets, instead of olive branches. No wonder oleman Noah fired the dove right out ag'in--bringin' him olives whatwa'n't pickled, instead of a bunch of grapes or somethin' you can eat!And that there dove never come back. I reckon he figured if he did, ole man Noah'd shoot him. Anyhow, if I ain't no dove of peace, I'mgoin' to do the best I can. Everybody 'round here seems like they wastryin' to ride right into trouble wishful, 'stead of reinin' to oneside an' givin' trouble a chance to get past. Gee Gosh! If I'd 'a'knowed what I know now--afore I hit this country--but I'm here. Anyhow, they's nothin' wrong with the country. It's the folks, like it'most always is. Reckon I ought to keep on buildin' fence thismornin', but that there peace idea 's got to singin' in me head. I'lljest saddle up Pill and ride over and tell ole man Loring that I'mtakin' care of his sheep charitable what's been hangin' around heresince 'Sandro passed over. Mebby that'll kind o' start the talk. ThenI can slip him a couple of ideas 'bout how neighbors ought to act. Huh! Me nussin' them sheep for two weeks and more, an' me just dyin'for a leetle taste o' mutton. Mebby his herders was scared to come for'em, I dunno. "

Sundown was established at the water-hole. Corliss had sent a team toAntelope for provisions, implements, and fencing. Meanwhile, Sundownhad been industrious, not alone because he felt the necessity forsomething to occupy his time, but that he wanted to forget the tragedyhe had so recently witnessed. And he had dreams of a morecompanionable future which included Mexican dishes served hot, eveningsof blissful indolence accompanied by melody, and a Seņora who wouldsing "Linda Rosa, Adios!" which would be the "piece de resistance" ofhis pastoral menu. 

The "tame cow, " which he had so ardently longed for, now grazedsoulfully in a temporary enclosure out on the mesa. Two young andsprightly black pigs prospected the confines of their litteredhermitage. Four gaunt hens and a more or less dilapidated roosterstalked about the yard, no longer afraid of the watchful Chance, whohad previously introduced himself to the rooster without the formalityof Sundown's presence as mediator. Sundown was proud of his chickens. The cow, however, had been, at first, rather a disappointment to him. Milk had not heretofore been a conspicuous portion of Sundown's diet, nor was he versed in the art of obtaining it except over the counter intins. With due formality and some trepidation he had placed a pailbeneath "Gentle Annie" as he called her, and had waited patiently. Sohad Gentle Annie, munching a reflective cud, and Sundown, in ametaphorical sense, doing likewise. He had walked around the cowinspecting her with an anxious and critical eye. She seemed healthfuland voluptuously contented. Yet no milk came. Bud Shoop, having atthat moment arrived with the team, sized up the situation. When he hadrecovered enough poise to stand without assistance and had wiped thewild tears from his eyes, he instructed the amazed Sundown as tocertain manipulations necessary to produce the desired result. "Huh!Folks says cows _give_ milk. But I reckon that ain't right, " Sundownhad asserted. "You got to take it away from 'em. " So he had takenwhat he could, which was not, at first, a great deal. 

This momentous morning he had decided that his unsolicited mission wasto induce or persuade Loring to arbitrate the question ofgrazing-rights. It was a strange idea, although not incompatible withSundown's peculiar temperament. He felt justified in taking theinitiative; especially in view of the fact that Loring's sheep had beentrespassing on his property. 

He saddled "Pill, " and called to Chance. "See here, Chance, you andme's pals. No, you ain't comin' this trip. You stick around and keepyour eye on me stock. What's mine is yourn exceptin' the rooster. Speakin' poetical, he belongs to them hens. If he ain't here when Iget back, I can pretty nigh tell by the leavin's where he is. When Igit back I look to find you hungry, sabe? And not sneakin' aroundlookin' at me edgeways with leetle feathers stickin' to your nose. Ireckon you understand. "

Chance followed his master to the road, and there the dog sat gazing atthe bobbing figure of Sundown until it was but a speck in the morningsunshine. Then Chance fell to scratching his ear with his hind foot, rose and shook himself, and stalked indolently to the yard where he laywith his nose along his outstretched fore legs, watching the proscribedrooster with an eloquence of expression that illustrated the proverbialpower of mind over matter. 

Sundown kept Pill loping steadily. It was a long ride, but Sundown'smind was so preoccupied with the preparing of his proposed appeal tothe sheep-man that the morning hours and the sunlit miles swept pastunnoticed. The dark green of the acacias bordering the hacienda, thetwinkling white of the speeding windmill, and the dull brown of theadobes became distinct and separate colors against the far edge of theeastern sky. He reined his pony to a walk. "When you're in a hurry todo somethin', " he informed his horse, "it ain't always good politics tolet folks know it. So we'll ride up easy, like we had money to spend, and was jest lookin' over the show-case. " And Pill was not averse tothe suggestion. 

Sundown dismounted, opened the gate, and swinging to the saddle, rodeup to the ranch-house. Had he known that Anita, the daughter of ChicoMiguel, was at that moment talking with the wife of one of Loring'sherders; that she was describing him in glowing terms to her friend, and moreover, as he passed up the driveway, that Anita had turnedswiftly, dropping the pitcher of milk which she had just brought fromthe cooling-room as she saw him, he might well have been excused frompromulgating his mission of peace with any degree of coherence. Sublimely ignorant of her presence, --spiritualists and sentimentaliststo the contrary in like instances, --he rode directly to the hacienda, asked for the patron, and was shown to the cool interior of the houseby the mildly astonished Seņora. Seņor Loring would return presently. Would the gentleman refresh himself by resting until the Seņorreturned? Possibly she herself could receive the message--or theSeņorita, who was in the garden?

"Thanks, lady. I reckon Pill is dry--wants a drink--agua--got athirst. No, ma'am. I can wait. I mean me horse. "

"Oh! Si! But Juan would attend to the horse and at once. "

"Thanks, lady. And if Miss Loring ain't too busy, I reckon I'd like tosee her a minute. "

The Seņora disappeared. Sundown could hear her call for Juan. Presently Nell Loring came to the room, checked an exclamation ofsurprise as she recognized him, and stepping forward, offered her hand. "You're from Mr. Corliss. I remember. . . . Is Chance all right now?"

"Yes, ma'am. He is enjoyin' fust-rate health. He eats reg'lar--andrabbits in between. But I ain't from the Concho, lady. I'm from meown ranch, down there at the water-hole. Me boss ain't got nothin' todo with me bein' here. It's me own idea. I come friendly and wishfulto make a little talk to your pa. "

Wondering what could have induced Sundown to call at her home, especially under the existing circumstances, Nell Loring made himwelcome. After he had washed and strolled over to the stables to seeto his horse. Sundown, returning, declined an invitation to come in, and sat on the veranda, smoking cigarettes and making mental note ofthe exterior details of the hacienda: its garden, shade-trees, corrals, and windmill. Should prosperity smile upon him, he would have awindmill, be Gosh! Not a white one--though white wasn't so bad--butsomething tasty; red, white and blue, mebby--a real American windmill, and in the front of the house a flagpole with the American flag. Andhe would keep the sign "American Hotel" above the gate. There wasnothin' like bein' paterotic. Mexican ranches--some of 'em--was purtyenough in a lazy kind of style, but he was goin' to let folks know thata white man was runnin' the water-hole ranch!

And all unknown to him, Anita stood in the doorway of one of theherder's 'dobes, more than ever impressed by the evident importance ofher beau-idéal of chivalry, who took the kick of horses as a matter ofcourse, and rose smilingly from such indignities to present flowers toher with eyes which spake of love and lips that expressed, as best theycould, admiration. Anita was a bit disappointed and perhaps a bitpleased that he had not as yet seen her. As it was she could worshipfrom a distance that lent security to her tender embarrassment. Thetall one must, indeed, be a great caballero to be made welcome at thepatron's home. Assuredly he was not as the other vaqueros who visitedthe patron. _He_ sat upon the veranda and smoked in a lordly way, while they inevitably held forth in the less conspicuous latitude ofthe bunk-house and its environs. Anita was happy. 

Sundown, elated by the righteousness of his mission as harbinger ofpeace, met Loring returning from one of the camps with graciousindifference to the other's gruff welcome. 

They sat at the table and ate in silence for a while. With therefreshing coffee Sundown's embarrassment melted. His weird command oflanguage, enhanced by the opportunity for exercise in a good cause, astonished and eventually interested his hearers. He did not approachhis subject directly, but mounted the metaphorical steps of his rostrumleisurely. He discoursed on the opportunities afforded by the almostlimitless free range. He hinted at the possibility of internecinestrife eventually awakening the cupidity of "land-sharks" all over thecountry. If there was land worth killing folks for, there was landworth stealing. If the Concho Valley was once thrown open tohomesteaders, then farewell free range and fat cattle and sheep. Andthe mention of sheep led him to remark that there was a small band atthe water-hole, uncared-for save by himself. "And he was no sheep-man, but he sure hated to see any critters sufferin' for water, so he hadallowed the sheep to drink at the water-hole. " Then he paused, anticipating the obvious question to which he made answer: "Yes. Thewater-hole ranch is me ranch. I filed on her the same day that you andMiss Loring come to Usher. Incondescent to that I was in the calabooseat Antelope. Somebody tole the sheriff that I was a suspiciouscharacter. Mebby I am, judgin' from the outside, but inside I ain't. You can't always tell what the works is like by the case, I ain't gotno hard feelin's for nobody, and I'm wishful that folks don't have nohard feelin's ag'in' me or anybody else. "

Loring listened in silence. Finally he spoke. "I'll take care of mysheep. I'll send for 'em to-day. Looks like you're tryin' to playsquare, but you don't figure in this deal. Jack Corliss is at thebottom of it and he's using you. And he'll use you hard. What yougoin' to do with the overflow from the water-hole?"

"I'm goin' to irrigate me ranch, " said Sundown. 

Loring nodded. "And cut off the water from everybody?"

"Not from me friends. "

"Which means the Concho. "

"Sure! Jack Corliss is me friend. But that ain't all. If you want tobe me friend, I ain't kickin' even if you did tell the sheriff he oughtto git acquainted with me closer. I'm goin' to speak right out. Ireckon it's the best way. I got a proposition. If you'll quit sickin'them herders onto cowboys and if Jack'll quit settin' the punchers atyour herders, I'll open up me spring and run her down to where they'swater for everybody. If cows comes, they drink. If sheep comes, _they_ drink. If folks comes, they drink, likewise. But no fightin'. "

Sundown as arbiter of peace felt that he had, in truth, "spoken rightout. " He was not a little surprised at himself and a bit fearful. Yethe felt justified in his suggestion. Theoretically he had made a fairoffer. Practically his offer was of no value. Sheep and cattle couldnot occupy the same range. Loring grumbled something and shoved backhis chair. They rose and stepped to the veranda. 

"If you can get Corliss to agree to what you say--and quit runnin'cattle on the water-hole side--I'll quit runnin' sheep there. " AndLoring waved his hand toward the north. 

"But the Concho is on the west side--" began Sundown. 

"And cattle are grazin' on the east side, " said Loring. 

Sundown scratched his head. "I reckon I got to see Jack, " he said. 

"And you'll waste time, at that, " said Loring. "Look here! Are youranchin' to hold down the water-hole for Corliss or to make a livin'?"

Sundown hesitated. He gazed across the yard to the distant mesa. Suddenly a figure crossed the pathway to the gate. He jerked up hishead and stood with mouth open. It couldn't be--but, yes, it wasAnita--Linda Rosa! Gee Gosh! He turned to Loring. "I been tellin'you the truth, " he said simply. "'Course I got to see me boss, now. But it makes no difference what he says, after this. I'm ranchin' formeself, because I'm--er--thinkin' of gettin' married. "

Without further explanation, Sundown stalked to the stable and got hishorse. He came to the hacienda and made his adieux. Then he mountedand rode slowly down the roadway toward the gate. 

Anita's curiosity had overcome her timidity. Quite accidentally shestood toying with a bud that she had picked from the flower-borderedroadway. She turned as Sundown jingled up and met him with a murmur ofsurprise and pleasure. He swung from his horse hat in hand andadvanced, bowing. Anita flushed and gazed at the ground. 

"'Mornin', Seņorita! I sure am jest hoppin' glad to see you ag'in. IfI'd 'a' knowed you was here . . . But I come on business--important. Reckon you're visitin' friends, eh?"

"Si, Seņor!"

"Do you come here reg'lar?"

"Only to see the good aunt sometimes. "

"Uhuh. I kind of wish your aunt was hangin' out at the Concho, though. This here ain't a reg'lar stoppin'-place for me. "

"You go away?" queried Anita. 

"I reckon I got to after what I said up there to the house. Yes, I'mgoin' back to feed me pigs and Chance and the hens. I set uphousekeepin' since I seen you. Got a ranch of me own--that I wastellin' you about. You ought to see it! Some class! But it's mightylonely, evenin's. "

Anita sighed and glanced at Sundown. Then her gaze dwelt on the budshe held. "Si, Seņor--it is lonely in the evenings, " she said, andalthough she spoke in Spanish, Sundown did not misunderstand. 

He grinned hugely. "You sure don't need to talk American to tell it, "he said as one who had just made a portentous discovery. "It wasworryin' me how we was goin' to get along--me short on the Spanish andyou short on my talk. But I reckon we'll get along fine. Your pa ingood health, and your ma?"

Anita nodded shyly. 

Sundown was at a loss to continue this pleasant conversation. Hebrightened, however, as a thought inspired him. "And the leetle hoss, is he doin' well?"

"That Sarko I do not like that he should keeck you!" flamed Anita, andSundown's cup of happiness was full to overflowing. 

Quite unconsciously he was leading his horse toward the gate and quiteunconsciously Anita was walking beside him. Forgotten was the Loringranch, the Concho, his own homestead. He was with his inamorata, the"Linda Rosa" of his dreams. 

At the gateway he turned to her. "I'm comin' over to see your folkssoon as I git things to runnin' on me ranch. Keeps a fella busy, butI'm sure comin'. I ain't got posies to growin' yet, but I'm goin' tohave some--like them, " and he indicated the bud which she held. 

"You like it?" she queried. And with bashful gesture she gave him therose, smiling as he immediately stuck it in the band of his sombrero. 

Then he held out his hand. "Linda Rosa, " he said gently, "I can't makethe big talk in the Spanish lingo or I'd say how I was lovin' you andthinkin' of you reg'lar and deep. 'Course I got to put your pa and mawise first. But some day I'm comin'--me and Chance--and tell you thatI'm ready--that me ranch is doin' fine, and that I sure want you tocome over and boss the outfit. I used to reckon that I didn't want nowoman around bossin' things, but I changed me mind. Adios!Seņorita!--for I sure got to feed them hens. "

Sundown extended his hand. Anita laid her own plump brown hand inSundown's hairy paw. For an instant he hesitated, moved by a mostnatural impulse to kiss her. Her girlish face, innocently sweet andtrusting, her big brown eyes glowing with admiration and wonder, as shegazed up at him, offered temptation and excuse enough. It was nottimidity nor lack of opportunity that caused Sundown to hesitate, butrather that innate respect for women which distinguishes the gentle manfrom the slovenly generalization "gentleman. " "Adios! Linda Rosa!" hemurmured, and stooping, kissed her brown fingers. Then he gesturedwith magnificence toward the flowers bordering the roadway. "And yousure are the lindaest little Linda Rosa of the bunch!"

And Anita's heart was filled with happiness as she watched her bravecaballero ride away, so tall, so straight, and of such the gentlemanner and the royal air!

It was inevitable that he should turn and wave to her, but it was notinevitable that she should have thrown him a pretty kiss with the graceof her pent-up emotion--but she did. 

CHAPTER XXIV

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT

It was late in the evening when Sundown returned to his ranch. Chancewelcomed him with vocal and gymnastic abandon. Sundown hastened to his"tame cow" and milked her while the four hens peeped and clucked fromtheir roost, evidently disturbed by the light of the lantern. Meanwhile Chance lay gravely watching his master until Gentle Annie hadbeen relieved of the full and creamy quota of her donation to themaintenance of the household. Then the wolf-dog followed his master tothe kitchen where they enjoyed, in separate dishes, Gentle Annie's warmcontribution, together with broken bread and "a leetle salt to bringout the gamey flavor. "

Solicitous of the welfare of his stock, as he termed them, he betookhimself to the hen-house to feed the chickens. "Huh!" he exclaimed, raising the lantern and peering round, "there's one rooster missin'!"_The_ rooster had in truth disappeared. He put down the lantern andturned to Chance. "Lemme look at your mouth. No, they ain't no signson you. Hold on! Be Gosh, if they ain't some leetle red hairsstickin' to your chops. What's the answer?"

Chance whined and wagged his tail. "You don't look like you wasguilty. And that there rooster wasn't sportin' red hair the last timeI seen him. Did you eat him fust and then swaller a rabbit to coverhis tracks? I reckon not. You're some dog--but you ain't gotboiler-room for a full-size Rhode Island Red and a rabbit and twoquarts of bread-and-milk. It ain't reas'nable. I got to investigate. "

The dog seemed to understand. He leaped up and trotted to the yard, turning his head and silently coaxing his master to follow him. Sundown, with a childish and most natural faith in Chance'sintelligence, followed him to the fence, scrambled through and trailedhim out on the mesa. In a little hollow Chance stopped and stood withcrooked fore leg. Sundown stalked up. At his feet fluttered his redrooster and not far from it lay the body of a full-grown coyote. Chance ran to the coyote and diving in shook the inanimate shape andgrowled. "Huh! Showin' me what you done to him for stealin' ourrooster, eh? Well, you sure are goin' to get suthin' extra for this!You caught him with the goods--looks like. And look here!"--andSundown deposited the lantern on a knoll and sat down facing the dog. "What I'm goin' to give you that extra for ain't for killin' thecoyote. That is your business when I ain't to home. You could 'a'finished off Jimmy"--and he gestured toward the rooster--"and theevidence would 'a' been in your favor, seein' as you was wise to showme the coyote. I got some candy put by for--for later, if she likesit, but we're goin' to bust open that box of candy and celebrate. Gotto see if I can repair Jimmy fust, though, or else use the axe. Idunno. "

Jimmy was a sad spectacle. His tail-feathers were about gone and oneleg was maimed, yet he still showed the fighting spirit of his NewEngland sires, for, as Sundown essayed to pick him up, he pecked andsquawked energetically. 

They returned to the house, where Sundown examined the bedraggled birdcritically. "I ain't no doc, but I have been practiced on some meself. Looks like his left kicker was bruk. Guess it's the splints for himand nussin' by hand. Here, you! Let go that button! That ain't abug! There! 'T ain't what you'd call a perfessional job, but if youjest quit runnin' around nights and take care of your health, mebbyyou'll come through. Don' know what them hens'll think, though. Yousure ain't no Anner Dominus no more. If you was a lady hen, you couldpertend you was wearin' evenin' dress like--low-neck and suspenders. But bein' a he, 't ain't the style. Wonder if you got your crow left?You ain't got a whole lot more to tell you from jest a hen. "

With Jimmy installed in a box of straw in the kitchen, the pigs fed, and Gentle Annie grazing contentedly, Sundown felt able to relax. Ithad been a strenuous day for him. He drew a chair to the stove, andbefore he sat down he brought forth from beneath the bed a highlycolored cardboard box on which was embossed a ribbon of blue sealedwith a gold paster-seal. Chance watched him gravely. It was aceremony. Sundown opened the box and picking out a chocolate held itup that Chance might realize fully that it was a ceremony. The dog'snose twitched and he licked his chops. "Tastes good a'ready, eh?Well, it's yourn. " And he solemnly gave Chance the chocolate. "GeeGosh! What'd you do with it? That ain't no way to eat candy! Youwant to chew her slow and kind o' hang on till she ain't there. Thenyou get your money's worth. Want another?"

Later Sundown essayed to smoke, but found the flavor of chocolateincompatible with the enjoyment of tobacco. Chance dozed by the fire, and Jimmy, with neck stretched above the edge of the box, watchedSundown with beady, blinking eyes. 

Sundown slept late next morning. The lowing of Gentle Annie as shemildly endeavored to make it known that milking-time was past, themuffled grunting of the two pigs as they rooted in the mud or pokedflat flexible noses through the bars, the restless padding of Chance toand from the bedroom, merely harmonized in chorus with audible slumbersuntil one of the hens cackled. Then Jimmy, from his box near thestove, lifted his clarion shrill in reply to the hen. Sundown sat up, scratched his ear, and arose. 

He was returning from a practice of five-finger exercise on GentleAnnie, busy with his thoughts and the balance of the pail, when a shoutbrought his gaze to the road. John Corliss and Bud Shoop waved himgreeting, and dismounting led their horses to the yard. 

"Saves me a ride, " muttered Sundown. Then, "How, folks! Come rightin!"

He noticed that the ponies seemed tired--that the cinchas weremud-spattered and that the riders seemed weary. He invited his gueststo breakfast. After the meal the three foregathered outside the house. 

"That was right good beef you fed us, " remarked Shoop, slightly raisingone eyebrow as Corliss glanced at him. 

"The best in the country, " cheerfully assented Sundown. 

"How you making it, Sun?"

"Me? Oh, I'm wigglin' along. Come home last night and found Jimmywith his leg bruk. Everything else was all right. "

"Jimmy?"

"Uhuh. Me rooster. "

"Coyote grab him?"

"Uhuh. And Chance fixed Mr. Coyote. I was to Loring's yesterday onbusiness. "

Shoop glanced at Corliss who had thus far remained silent. 

"We had a little business to talk over, " said the rancher. "You'relocated now. I'm going to run some cattle down this way next week. Some of mine and some of the Two-Bar-O. " Corliss, who had beenstanding, stepped to the doorway and sat down. Shoop and Sundownfollowed him and lay outstretched on the warm earth. "Funny thing, Bud, about that Two-Bar-O steer we found cut up. "

"Sure was, " said Shoop. 

"Did he get in a fence?" queried Sundown. 

"No. He was killed for beef. We ran across him yesterday and did somelooking around last night. Trailed over this way to have a talk. "

"I'm right glad to see you. I wanted to speak a little piece meselfafter you get through. "

"All right. Here's the story. " And Corliss gazed across the mesa fora moment. "The South Spring's gone dry. The fork is so low that onlya dozen head can drink at once. It's been a mighty dry year, and theriver is about played out except in the caņon, and the stock can't getto the water there. This is about the only natural supply outside theranch. I want to put a couple of men in here and ditch to that hollowover there. It'll take about all your water, but we got to have it. Iwant you to put in a gas-engine and pump for us. Maybe we'll have topipe to tanks before we get through. I'll give you fifty a month torun the engine. "

"I'll sure keep that leetle ole gas-engine coughin' regular, " saidSundown. "I was thinkin' of somethin' like that meself. You see Iseen Loring yesterday. I told him that anybody that was wishful couldwater stock here so long as she held out--except there was to be noshootin' and killin', and the like. Ole man Loring says to tell youwhat I told him and see what you said. I reckon he'll take his sheepout of here if you folks'll take your cattle off the east side. Iain't playin' no favorites. You been my friend--you and Bud. You comeand make me a proposition to pump water for you--and the fifty a monthis for the water. That's business. Loring ain't said nothin' aboutbuyin' water from me, so you get it. You see I was kind of figurin'somethin' like this when I first come to this here place--'way backwhen I met you that evenin'. Says I to meself, 'a fella couldn't evenraise robins on this here farm, but from the looks of that water-holehe could raise water, and folks sure got to have water in thiscountry. ' I was thinkin' of irrigatin' and raisin' alfalfa andveg'tables, but fifty a month sounds good to me. Bein' a punchermeself, I ain't got no use for sheep, but I was willin' to give ole manLoring a chance. If the mesas is goin' dry on the east side, what's hegoin' to do?"

"I don't know, Sun. He's got a card up his sleeve, and you want tostay right on the job. Bud here got a tip in Antelope that a bunch ofMexicans came in last week from Loring's old ranch in New Mexico. Someof 'em are herders and some of 'em are worse. I reckon he'll try topush his sheep across and take up around here. He'll try it at night. If he does and you get on to it before we do, just saddle Pill and fanit for the Concho. "

"Gee Gosh! But that means more fightin'!"

Shoop and Corliss said nothing. Sundown gazed at them questioningly. 

Presently Corliss gestured toward the south. "They'll make itinteresting for you. Loring's an old-timer and he won't quit. Thisthing won't be settled until something happens--and I reckon it's goingto happen soon. "

"Well, I'm sure sittin' on the dynamite, " said Sundown lugubriously. "I reckoned to settle down and git m--me farm to goin' and keep out oftrouble. Now it looks like I was the cat what fell out of a tree intoa dog-fight by mistake. They was nothin' left of that cat. "

Shoop laughed. "We'll see that you come out all right. "

Sundown accepted this meager consolation with a grimace. Then his facebeamed. "Say! What's the matter of me tellin' the sheriff thatthere's like to be doin's--and mebby he could come over and kind ofscare 'em off. "

"The idea is all right, Sun. But Jim is a married man. Most of hisdeputies are married. If it comes to a mix some of 'em 'd get it sure. Now there isn't a married man on the Concho--which makes a lot ofdifference. Sabe?"

"I reckon that's right, " admitted Sundown, "Killin' a married man islike killin' the whole fambly. "

"And you're a single man--so you're all right, " said Shoop. 

"Gee Gosh! Mebby that ought to make me feel good, but it don't. Supposin' a fella was goin' to get married?"

"Then--he'd--better wait, " said Corliss, smiling at his foreman. 

Corliss stood up and yawned. "Oh, say, Sun, where'd you get thatbeef?" he asked casually. 

"The beef? Why, a Chola come along here day afore yesterday and say ifI wanted some meat. I says yes. Then he rides off and purty soon hecomes back with a hind-quarter on his saddle. I give him two dollarsfor it. It looked kind of funny, but I thought he was mebby campin'out there somewhere and peddlin' meat. "

Shoop and Corliss glanced at each other. "They don't peddle meat thatway in this country, Sun. What did the Mexican look like?"

"Kind of fat and greasy-like, and he was as cross-eyed as a rabbitwatchin' two dogs to onct. "

"That so? Let's have a look at that hind-quarter. "

"Sure! Over there in the well-shed. "

When Corliss returned, he nodded to Shoop. Then he turned to Sundown. "We found a Two-Bar-O steer killed right close to here yesterday. Looks queer. Well, we'll be fanning it. I'll send to Antelope andhave them order the pump and some pipe. Got plenty of grub?"

"Plenty 'nough for a couple of weeks. "

"All right. So-long. Keep your eye on things. "

CHAPTER XXV

VAMOSE, EH?

The intermittent popping of the gasoline engine, as it forced water tothe big, unpainted tank near the water-hole, became at first monotonousand finally irritating. Sundown, clad in oil-spotted overalls that didnot by many inches conceal his riding-boots and his Spanish spurs, puttered about the engine until he happened to glance at the distanttank. A silvery rill of water was pouring from the top of the tank. He shut off the engine, wiped his hands, and strode to the house. 

He was gone a long time, so long in fact that Chance decided toinvestigate. The dog got up, stretched lazily, and padded to thedoorway. He could hear Sundown muttering and shuffling about in thebedroom. Chance stalked in quietly and stood gazing at his master. Sundown had evidently been taking a bath, --not in the pail of waterthat stood near him, but obviously round and about it. At the momenthe was engaged in tying a knot in the silk bandanna about his neck. Chance became animated. His master was going somewhere! Sundownturned his head, glancing at the dog with a preoccupied eye. The knotadjusted to his satisfaction, he knelt and drew a large box frombeneath the bed. From the box he took an immaculate and exceedinglywide-brimmed Stetson with an exceedingly high crown. He dented thecrown until the hat had that rakish appearance dear to the heart of thecowboy. Then he took the foot-square looking-glass from the wall andstudied the effect at various and more or less unsatisfactory angles. Again he knelt--after depositing the hat on the bed--and emerged with apair of gorgeous leather chaps that glittered with the polished silverof conchas from waist-band to heel. Next he drew on a pair ofelaborate gauntlets embellished with hand-worked silk roses of crimson. Then he glanced at his boots. They were undoubtedly serviceable, butmore or less muddy and stained. That wouldn't do at all! Striding tothe kitchen he poked about and finally unearthed a box of stove-polishthat he had purchased and laid away for future use against that happytime when stove-polish would be doubly appreciated. The metallicluster of his boots was not altogether satisfactory, but it would do. "This here bein' chief engineer of a popcorn machine ain't what it'ssaid to be in the perspectus. Gets a fella lookin' greasy and feelin'greasy, but the pay kind of makes up for it. Me first month's wagesblowed in for outside decoratin'--but I reckon the grub'll hold out fora spell. "

Then he strode from the house and made his rounds, inspecting the pigs, shooing the chickens to their coop, and finally making a shortpilgrimage to where Gentle Annie was grazing. After he had saddled"Pill, " he returned to the house and reappeared with a piece ofwrapping-paper on which he had printed:--

Help yourself to grub--but no fighting on thees premisus. 

SUNDOWN, Propriter. 

"It's all right trustin' folks, " he remarked as he gazed proudly at thesign and still more proudly at the signature. "And I sure hate to putup anything that looks kind of religious, but these days I don't trustnobody but meself, and I sure have a hard time doin' that, knowin' howcrooked I could be if I tried. "

He gathered up the reins and mounted Pill. "Come on, Chance!" hecalled. "We don't need any rooster-police to-day. Jimmy's in theretalkin' to his hens, and like as not cussin' because I shet him up. And he sure ought to be glad he ain't goin' on crutches. "

He rode out to the mesa and, turning from the trail, took as direct acourse as he could approximate for the home of Chico Miguel, andincidentally Anita. His mission would have been obvious to an utterstranger. He shone and glistened from head to heel--his face with theinner light of anticipation and his boots with the effulgence ofhastily applied stove-polish. 

He rode slowly, for he wished to collect himself, that his errand mighthave all the grace of a chance visit and yet not lack the mostessential significance. He did not stop to reason that Anita's fatherand mother were anything but blind. 

The day was exceptionally hot. The sun burned steadily on the ripeningbunch-grass. His pony's feet swept aside bright flowers that tiltedtheir faces eagerly like the faces of questioning children. He glancedat his watch. "Got to move along, Pill. Reckon we'll risk havin'somethin' to say when we get there--and not cook her up goin' along. It sure is hot. Huh! That there butte over there looks jest like acity athletic club with muscles all on its front of fellas wrastlin'and throwin' things at themselves. Wisht I had a big lookin'-glass soI could see meself comin'. Gee Gosh, but she's hot!"

He put the horse to a lope, and with the subdued rhythm of the pony'sfeet came Euterpe with a song. Recitation of verse at a lope is apt tobe punctuated according to the physical contour of the ground:--

 "In the Pull--man _car_ with turnin' _fans_, The desert _looks_ like a lovely p--_lace_. But crossin' a_lone_ on the _burn_in' sands, She's hell, with a _grin_ on her face. "

"Got to slow up to get that right, " he said, "or jest stop an' git off. But we ain't got time. 'Oh, down in Arizona there's a . . . ' No. Ireckon I won't. I want to sing, but I can't take no risks. "

That "the Colonel's lady and Julie O'Grady are sisters under theirskins, " is not to be doubted. That Romeo and Sundown are brothers, with the odds slightly in favor of Sundown, is apparent to those whohave been, are, or are willing to be, in love. "Will this plume, thesetrunks and hose, this bonnet please my fair Juliet?" sighs Romeo to hismirror. And "Will these here chaps and me bandanna and me new Stetsonmake a hit with me leetle Anita?" asks Sundown of the mesas. 

That the little Anita was pleased, nay, overwhelmed by the arrival ofher gorgeous caballero was more than apparent to the anxious Sundown. She came running to the gate and stood with clasped hands while hebowed for the seventh time and slowly dismounted, giving his leg anunnecessary shake that the full effect of spur and concha might not belost. He felt the high importance of his visit, and Anita alsosurmised that something unusual was about to happen. He strodemagnificently to the house and again doffed his Stetson to theastonished and smiling Seņora. Evidently the strange vaquero had metwith fortune. With experienced eye the mother of Anita swiftlyestimated the monetary outlay necessary to possess such an equipment. It was well to be courted, of that she was reminiscently certain. Yetit was also well to be courted by one who bore the earmarks--so tospeak--of prosperity. Sundown was made heartily welcome. After theyhad had dinner, --Chico Miguel would return at night as usual, --Sundownmentally besought his stars to aid him, lend him eloquence and theSeņora understanding, and found excuse to follow the Seņora to thekitchen where he offered to wipe the dishes. This she would not hearof, but being wise in her generation she dismissed Anita on a trivialerrand and motioned her guest to a seat. What was said is a matter ofinterest only to those immediately concerned. Love is his owninterpreter and labors willingly, yet in this instance his limitationsmust be excused by the result. The Seņora and Sundown came to aperfect understanding. The cabellero was welcome to make the state ofhis heart known to Anita. As for her father, she--the Seņora--wouldattend to him. And was Sundown fond of the tortillas? He was, beGosh! It was well. They would have tortillas that evening. ChicoMiguel was especially fond of the tortillas. They made him of thepleasant disposition and induced him to tune the big guitar. 

The Seņora would take her siesta. Possibly her guest would smoke andentertain Anita with news from the Concho and of the Patron Loring andof his own rancho. Anita was not of what you say the kind to do themuch talking, but she had a heart. Of that the Seņora had reason to beassured. Had not Anita gone, each day, to the gate and stood gazingdown the road? Surely there was nothing to see save the mesas. Hadshe not begged to be allowed to visit the Loring hacienda not of sovery long time past? And Anita had not been to the Loring hacienda fora year or more. Such things were significant. And the Seņora gesturedtoward her own bosom, implying that she of a surety knew from whichquarter the south wind blew. 

All of which delighted the already joyous Sundown. He saw before him aflower-bordered pathway to his happiness, and incidentally, as he gazeddown the pathway toward the gate of Chico Miguel's homestead, he sawAnita standing pensively beneath the shade of an acacia, pulling aflower to pieces and casting quick glances at the house. "Good-night, Seņora, --I mean--er--here's hopin' you have a good sleep. It sure isrefreshin' this hot weather. " The Seņora nodded and disappeared in thebedroom. Sundown strode jingling down the pathway, a brave figure inhis glittering chaps and tinkling spurs. Anita's eyes were hiddenbeneath her long black lashes. Perhaps she had anticipated somethingof that which followed--perhaps she anticipated even more. In anyevent, Sundown was not a disappointment. He asked her to sit besidehim beneath the acacia. Then he took her hand and squeezed it. "Let'sjest sit here and look out at them there mesas dancin' in the sun; andsay, 'Nita, let's jest say nothin' for a spell. I'm so right downhappy that suthin' hurts me throat. "

When Chico Miguel returned in the dusk of evening, humming a song ofthe herd, he was not a little surprised to find that Anita was absent. He questioned the Seņora, who smiled as she bustled about the table. "Tortillas, " she said, and was gratified at the change in ChicoMiguel's expression. Then she explained the presence of the broad newStetson that lay on a chair, adding a gesture toward the gateway. "Itis the tall one and our daughter--he of the grand manner and the sadcountenance. It is possible that a new home will be thought of forAnita. " There had been conversations that afternoon with the tallcaballero and understandings. Chico Miguel was to wash himself and puton his black suit. It was an event--and there were tortillas. 

Chico Miguel wondered why the hour of eating had been so long past. Towhich the Seņora replied that he had just arrived, and, moreover, thatshe had already called to Anita this the third time, yet had had noresponse. Chico Miguel moved toward the doorway, but his wife laid herhand on his arm. "It is that you take the big guitar and play the'Linda Rosa, Adios. ' Then, to be sure, they will hear and the supperwill not grow cold. "

Grumblingly Chico Miguel took his guitar and struck the opening chordsof the song. Presently up the pathway came two shadowy figures, closetogether and seemingly in no haste. As they entered the house, Sundownapologized for having delayed supper, stating that he had been sointerested in discussing with Anita the "best breed of chickens toraise for eggs, " that other things had for the nonce not occupied hisattention. "And we're sure walkin' on music, " he added. "Jeststeppin' along on the notes of that there song. I reckon I got to getone of them leetle potato-bug mandolins and learn to tickle its neck. There's nothin' like music--exceptin'"--and he glanced at the blushingAnita--"exceptin' ranchin'. "

It was late when Sundown finally departed, He grew anxious as he rodeacross the mesas, wondering if he had not taken advantage, as it were, of Gentle Annie's good nature, and whether or not the chickens werevery hungry. Chance plodded beside him, a vague shadow in thestarlight. The going was more or less rough and Pill dodged manygopher-holes, to the peril of his rider's equilibrium. Yet Sundown wasglad that it was night. There was nothing to divert him from thegolden dreams of the future. He felt that success, as he put it, "washangin' around the door whinin' to be let in. " He formulated a creedfor himself and told the stars. "I believe in meself--you bet. " Yethe was honest with his soul. "I know more about everything and lessabout anything than anybody--exceptin' po'try and cookin'. But gettin'along ain't jest what you know. It's more like what you do. They'sfellas knows more than I could learn in four thousand eight hundred andseventy-six years, but that don't help 'em get along none. It's whatyou know inside what counts. "

He lapsed into silence and slouched in the saddle. Presently henodded, recovered, and nodded again. He would not wittingly have goneto sleep in the saddle, being as yet too unaccustomed to riding torelax to that extent. But sleep had something to say anent the matter. He dozed, clasping the saddle-horn instinctively. Pill plodded alongpatiently. The east grew gray, then rose-pink, then golden. The horselifted its head and quickened pace. Sundown swayed and nodded. 

His uneasy slumber was broken by an explosive bark from Chance. Sundown straightened and rubbed his eyes. Before him lay theranch-house, glittering in the sun. Out on the mesa grazed a herd ofsheep and past them another and another. Again he rubbed his eyes. 

Then he distinguished several saddle-horses tied to the fencesurrounding the water-hole and there were figures of men walking to andfrom his house, many of them. He set spur to Pill and loped up to thefence. A Mexican with a hard, lined face stepped up to him. "Youvamose!" he said, pointing down the road. 

Sundown stared at the men about the yard. Among them he recognizedseveral of Loring's herders, armed and evidently equipped with horses, for they were booted and spurred. He pushed back his hat. "Vamose, eh? I'll be damned if I do. "

CHAPTER XXVI

THE INVADERS

The Mexican whipped his gun out and covered Sundown, who wisely put uphis hands. Two of the men crawled through the fence, secured Sundown'shorse, and ordered him to dismount. Before both feet had touched theground one of the Mexicans had snatched Sundown's gun from its holster. Chance leaped at the Mexican, but Sundown's "Here, Chance!" brought thedog growling to his master. 

At that moment Loring stepped from the house, and shouldering aside themen strode up to Sundown. The sheep-man was about to speak when thetall one raised his arm and shook his fist in Loring's face. 

"Fer two pins I'd jump you and stomp the gizzard out of you, youlow-down, dried-up, whisker-faced, mutton-eatin' butcher, you! I goesto you and makes you a square offer and you come pussy-footin' in andsteals me ranch when I ain't there! If Jack Corliss don't run youplumb off the edge afore to-morrow night, I'll sure see if there's anylaw--" and Sundown paused for lack of breath. 

"Law? Mebby you think you got somethin' to say about this herewater-hole, and mebby not, " said Loring. "Don't get het up. I come tothis country before you knew it was here. And for law--I reckon seein'you're wanted by the law that them papers of yourn is good for startin'a fire--and nothin' more. The _law_ says that no man wanted by the lawkin homestead. The water-hole is open to the fust man that wants itand I'm the fust. Now mebby you can think that over and cool off. "

Sundown was taken aback. Though unversed in the intricacies of thelaw, he was sensible enough to realize that Loring was right. Yet heheld tenaciously to his attitude of proprietor of the water-hole. Itwas his home--the only home that he had known in his variegated career. The fact that he was not guilty buoyed him up, however. He decidedthat discretion had its uses. As his first anger evaporated, he castabout for a plan whereby to notify Corliss of the invasion of thewater-hole ranch. His glance wandered to Chance. 

Then he raised his eyes. "Well, now the fireworks is burned down, whatyou goin' to do?"

Loring gestured toward the house. "That's my business. But you canturn in and cook grub for the men. That'll keep you from thinkin' toohard, and we're like to be busy. "

"Then you're takin' me prisoner?" queried Sundown. 

"That's correc'. "

"How about the law of that?"

"This outfit's makin' its own laws these days, " said Loring. 

And so far as Loring was concerned that ended the argument. Not so, however, with Sundown. He said nothing. Had Loring known him better, that fact would have caused him to suspect his prisoner. With evidentmeekness the tall one entered the house and gazed with disconsolateeyes at the piled kyacks of provisions, the tarpaulins and sheepskins. His citadel of dreams had been rudely invaded, in truth. He was not somuch angered by the possible effects of the invasion as by the fact. Gentle Annie was lowing plaintively. The chickens were scurrying aboutthe yard, cackling hysterically as they dodged this and that herder. The two pigs, Sundown reflected consolingly, seemed happy enough. Loring, standing in the doorway, pointed to the stove. "Get busy, " hesaid tersely. That was the last straw. Silently Sundown stalked tothe stove, rolled up his sleeves, and went to work. If there were nota score of mighty sick herders that night, it would not be his fault. He had determined on a bloodless but effective victory, wherein sodaand cream-of-tartar should be the victors. 

Soda and cream-of-tartar in proper proportions is harmless. But doublethe proportion of cream-of-tartar and the result is internal riot. "And a leetle spice to kill the bitter of the taste ought to work allright, " he soliloquized. Then he remembered Chance. Loring had leftto oversee the establishment of an outlying camp. The Mexican whoassisted Sundown seemed stupid and sullen. Sundown found excuse toenter his bedroom, where he hastily scrawled a note to Corliss. Laterhe tied the note to the inside of the dog's collar. The next thing wasto get Chance started on the road to the Concho. He rolled down hissleeves and strolled to the doorway. A Mexican sat smoking andwatching the road. Sundown stepped past him and began to tinker withthe gas-engine. Chance stood watching him. Presently the gas-enginestarted with a cough and splutter. Sundown walked to the door andseemed about to enter when the Mexican called to him and pointed towardthe distant tank. Water was pouring over its rim. "Gee Gosh!"exclaimed Sundown. "I got to shut her off. " He ran to the engine andits sound ceased. Yet the water still poured from the rim of the tank. "Got to fix that!" he asserted, and started toward the tank. TheMexican followed him to the fence. 

"You come back?" he queried significantly. 

"Sure thing! I ain't got a hoss, have I?"

The Mexican nodded. Sundown crawled through the fence and strodeslowly to the tank. He pretended to examine it first in view of thehouse and finally on the opposite side. As Chance sniffed along thebottom of the tank, Sundown spoke to him. The dog's ears prickedforward. Sundown's tone suggested action. "Here, Chance, --you fan itfor the Concho--Jack--the boss. Beat it for all you're worth. TheConcho! Sabe?" And he patted the dog's head and pointed toward thesouth. 

Chance hesitated, leaping up and whining. 

"That's all right, pardner. They ain't nothin' goin' to happen to me. You go!"

Chance trotted off a few yards and then turned his head inquiringly. 

"That's right. Keep a-goin'. It's your stunt this time. " And Sundownwaved his arm. 

The return of Sundown without the dog occasioned no suspicion on theMexican's part. He most naturally thought, if he considered the factat all, that the dog was hunting the mesas. Then Sundown entered thehouse and experimented with soda and cream-of-tartar as though he wereconcocting a high explosive with proportions of the ingredientscalculated to produce the most satisfactory results. His plan, however, was nipped in the bud. That night the herders refused to eatthe biscuits after tasting them. 

Hi Wingle, coming from the bunk-house, wiped his hands on his apron, rolled a cigarette, and squatted in the shade. From within came theclatter of knives and forks and the rattle of dishes. The riders ofthe Concho were about through dinner. Wingle, gazing down the road, suddenly cast his cigarette away and rose. The road seemed empty savefor a lean brown shape that raced toward the Concho with sweepingstride. "It's the dog. Wonder what's up now?"

Chance, his muzzle specked with froth and his tongue lolling, swunginto the yard and trotted to Wingle. "Boss git piled ag'in?" queriedthe cook, patting Chance's head. "What you scratchin' about?"

The dog lay panting and occasionally pawing at his collar. 

"What's the matter? Cockle-burr?" And Wingle ran his fingers underthe collar. "So? Playin' mail-man, eh?"

He spread out the note and read it. Slowly he straightened up andslowly he walked to the bunk-house. "No. Guess I'll tell Jack first. "

He strode to the office and laid the note on Corliss's desk. Therancher, busy running up totals on the pay-roll, glanced at thesweat-stained piece of paper. He read it and pushed it from him. "Allright, Hi. "

Wingle hesitated, then stepped out and over to the bunk-house. "Takesit mighty cool! Wonder what he's got up his sleeve. Somethin'--sure!"

Corliss studied the note. Then he reached for paper and envelopes andwrote busily. One of the letters was to the sheriff in Antelope. Itwas brief. 

I'm going to push a bunch of stock over to the water-hole range. Myboys have instructions not to shoot. That's the best I can do for themand the other side. JOHN CORLISS. 

The other letter was to Nell Loring. Then he rose and buckled on hisgun. At the bunk-house he gave the letters to Lone Johnny, who saddledand departed immediately. 

Without making the contents of the note known, he told the men thatthey would join Bud Shoop and his outfit at the Knoll and push the herdnorth. Later he took Wingle aside and told him that he could stay andlook after the rancho. 

The indignant Hi rolled down his sleeves, spat, and glared at Corliss. "I quit, " he snapped. "You can hire a new cook. "

Despite his preoccupation Corliss smiled. "All right, Hi. Now thatyou're out of a job, you might saddle up and ride with us. We'll needsome one to keep us good-natured, I reckon. "

"Now you're whistlin'!" said Wingle. "Got a gun I can use? I givemine to Sundown. "

"There's one over in the office on the desk. But we're going to pushthe herd over to the water-hole. We're not going there to fight. "

"Huh! Goin' to be quiet, eh? Mebby I better take my knittin' along topass the time. "

And Wingle departed toward the office. Rejoining Corliss they rodewith the men to the Knoll. Bud Shoop nodded gravely as his employertold him of Loring's occupation of the west bank of the river. Thenthe genial Bud rode over to the herd that was bunched in anticipationof just such a contingency as had developed. "It's a case of push 'emalong easy--and all night, " he told his men. "And if any of you boysis out of cartridges there's plenty in the wagon. "

John Corliss rode with his men. He told them to cut out any strayTwo-Bar-O stock they saw and turn them back. Toward evening they hadthe cattle in motion, drifting slowly toward the north. The sixteenriders, including Corliss and Wingle, spread out and pushed the herdacross the afternoon mesas. The day was hot and there was no waterbetween the Knoll and Sundown's ranch. Corliss intended to hold thecattle when within a mile of the water-hole by milling them untildaylight. When they got the smell of water, he knew that he would notbe able to hold them longer, nor did he wish to. He regretted the factthat Chance was running with him, for he knew that Loring's men, underthe circumstances, would shoot the dog if they had opportunity. 

Toward evening the outfit drew up in a draw and partook of a heartysupper. The cattle began to lag as they were urged forward, and Chancewas called into requisition to keep after the stragglers. As the herdwas not large, --in fact, numbered but five hundred, --it was possible tokeep it moving steadily and well bunched, throughout the night. 

Within a short mile of the water-hole the riders began to mill the herd. 

Bud Shoop, riding up to Corliss, pointed toward the east. "Reckon wecan't hold 'em much longer, Jack. They're crazy dry--and they smellwater. "

"All right, Bud. Hold 'em for fifteen minutes more. Then take four ofthe boys with you and fan it for the road. You can cache in that drawjust north of the water-hole. About sunup the herd'll break for water. Loring's outfit will be plenty busy on this side, about then. If he'sgot any gunmen handy, they'll be camped at the ranch. Chances are thatwhen the cattle stampede a band or two of sheep, he'll turn his men onus. That's your time to ride down and take possession of the ranch. Most likely you won't have to draw a gun. "

Shoop reined close to Corliss and held out his hand. "Mebby not, Jack. But if we do--so-long. "

Then the genial Bud loped to the outriders, picking them up one by one. The cattle, freed from the vigilance of the circling horsemen, sniffedthe dawn, crowded to a wedge, and began to trot, then to run. Shoopand his four companions spurred ahead, swung to the road, and thunderedpast the ranch-house as a faint edge of light shot over the easternhorizon. They entered the mouth of the draw, swung around, and reinedup. 

"We're goin' to chip in when Jack opens the pot, " said Shoop. "Justhow strong we'll come in depends on how strong Jack opens her. " Thenwith seeming irrelevance he remarked casually: "Sinker wasn't such abad ole scout. "

"Which Loring's goin' to find out right soon, " said "Mebby-So, " a leanTexan. 

"Sinker's sure goin' to have company, I take it, " remarked "Bull"Cassidy. 

"Boss's orders is to take her without makin' any noise, " said Shoop. 

"Huh! _I'm_ plumb disappointed, " asserted Mebby-So. "I was figurin'on singin' hymns and accompanyin' meself on me--me cayuse. Listen!Somethin' 's broke loose!"

Thundering like an avalanche the herd swept down on the water-hole, ploughing through a band of sheep that were bedded down between themand the ranch. The herder's tent was torn to ribbons. Wingle, trailing behind the herd, dismounted, and, stooping, disarmed thebruised and battered Mexican who had struggled to his feet as he rodeup. 

From the water-hole came shouts, and Corliss saw several men comerunning from the house to seize their horses and ride out toward thecattle. The band of riders opened up and the distant popping ofWinchesters told him that the herders were endeavoring to check therush of the thirst-maddened steers. The carcasses of sheep, trampledto pulp, lay scattered over the mesa. 

"It sure is hell!" remarked Wingle, riding up to Corliss. 

"Hell is correct, " said Corliss, spurring forward. "Now I reckon we'llride over to the rancho and see if Loring wants any more of it. "

Silently the rancher and his men rode toward the water-hole. As theydrew near the line fence, the Mexican riders, swinging in a widecircle, spurred to head them off. 

"Hold on!" shouted Corliss. "We'll pull up and wait for 'em. "

"Suits me, " said Wingle, loosening his gun from the holster. 

The Mexicans, led by Loring, loped up and reined with a slither ofhoofs and the snorting of excited ponies. Corliss held up his hand. Loring spurred forward and Corliss rode to meet him. 

"Want any more of it?" queried Corliss. 

"I'll take all you got, " snarled Loring. 

"All right. Just listen a minute. " And Corliss reached in hissaddle-pocket. "Here's a lease from the Government covering the tensections adjoining the water-hole ranch, on the south and west. Andhere's a contract with the owner of the water-hole, signed andwitnessed, for the use of the water for my stock. You're playing anold-fashioned game, Loring, that's out of date. Want to look overthese papers?"

"To hell with your papers. I'm here and I'm goin' to stay. "

"Well, we'll visit you regular, " shouted a puncher. 

"Better come over to the house and talk things over, " said Corliss. "Idon't want trouble with you--but my boys do. "

Loring hesitated. One of his men, spurring up, whispered to him. 

Wingle, keenly alert, restrained a cowboy who was edging forward. "Don't start nothin', " he said. "If she's goin' to start, she'll startherself. "

Loring turned to Corliss. "I'd like to look at them papers, " he saidslowly. 

"All right. We'll ride over to the house. "

The two bands of riders swung toward the north, passed the tank, andtrotted up to the ranch-gate. They dismounted and were met by Shoopand his companions. Loring blinked and muttered. He had beenoutgeneraled. One of the Concho riders laughed. Loring's hand slippedto his belt. "Don't, " said Corliss easily. The tension relaxed, andthe men began joking and laughing. 

"Where's Sundown?" queried Corliss. 

Loring gestured toward the house. 

"I'll go, " said Wingle. And he shouldered through the group ofscowling herders and entered the house. 

Sundown, with hands tied, was sitting on the edge of his bed. "Theyroped me, " he said lugubriously, "in me own house. Bud he was goin' tountie me, but I says for the love of Mike leave me tied or I'll take achair and brain that Chola what kicked Gentle Annie in the stummickthis mornin'. He was goin' to milk her and I reckon she didn't likehis looks. Anyhow, she laid him out with a kind of hind-leg upper-cut. When he come to, he set in to kickin' her. I got his picture and if Iget me hands on him . . . "

Wingle cut the rope and Sundown stood up. "They swiped me gun, " heasserted. 

"Here's one I took off a herder, " said Wingle. "if things get toboilin' over--why, jest nacherally wilt the legs from under anythingthat looks like a Chola. Jack's got the cards, all right--but I don'tjest like the look of things. Loring's in the corner and he's got hisback up. "

As they came from the house, Loring was reading the papers that Corlisshad handed to him. The old sheep-man glanced at the signatures on thedocuments and then slowly folded them, hesitated, and with a quick turnof his wrist tore them and flung the pieces in Corliss's face. "Thatfor your law! We stay!"

Corliss bit his lip, and the dull red of restrained anger burned in hisface. He had gone too far to retreat or retract. He knew that his menwould lose all respect for him if he backed down now. Yet he wasunable to frame a plan whereby he might avoid the arbitration of thesix-gun. His men eyed him curiously. Was Jack going to show a yellowstreak? They thought that he would not--and yet . . . 

Sundown raised his long arm and pointed. "There's the gent what kickedme cow, " he said, his face white and his eyes burning. 

The punchers of the Concho laughed. "Jump him!" shouted "Bull"Cassidy. "We'll stand by and see that there's no monkeyin'. "

Corliss held up his hand. The Mexicans drew together and the age-oldhatred for the Gringo burned in their beady eyes. 

Sundown's thin lips drew tight. "I've a good mind to--" he began. TheMexican who had maltreated the cow mistook Sundown's gesture for intentto kill. The herder's gun whipped up. Sundown grabbed a chair thatstood tilted against the house and swung it. The Mexican went down. With the accidental explosion of the gun, Mebby-So grunted, put hishand to his side, and toppled from the saddle. Corliss wheeled hishorse. 

"Don't shoot, boys!" he shouted. 

His answer was a roar of six-guns. He felt Chinook shiver. He jumpedclear as the horse rolled to its side. Sundown, retreating to thehouse, flung open the bedroom window and kneeling, laid the barrel ofhis gun on the sill. Deliberately he sighted, hesitated, and flung thegun from him. "God Almighty--I ought to--but I can't!" He had seenCorliss fall and thought that he had been killed. He saw a Mexicanraise his gun to fire; saw him suddenly straighten in the saddle. Thenthe gun dropped from his hand, and he bent forward upon his horse, recovered, swayed a moment, and fell limply. 

Bud Shoop, on foot, ran around to the rear of the house. His horse laykicking, shot through the stomach. The foreman drew himself up undercover of the hen-house and fired into the huddle of Mexicans that sweptaround the yard as the riders of the Concho drove them back. He saw"Bull" Cassidy in the thick of it, swinging his guns and swearingheartily. Finally a Mexican pony, wounded and wild with fright, torethrough the barb-wire fence. Behind him spurred the herders. Out onthe mesa they turned and threw lead at the Concho riders, who retreatedto the cover of the house. Corliss caught up a herder's horse and rodearound to them. Shorty, one of his men, grinned, fell to coughing, andsank forward on his horse. 

"Loring's down, " said Wingle, solemnly reloading his gun. "Think theygot enough, Jack?"

"Loring, eh? Well, I know who got him. Yes, they got enough. "

Shorty, vomiting blood, wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Well, Iain't--not yet, " he gasped. "_I'm_ goin' to finish in a blaze ofglory. Come on, boys!" And he whirled his horse. Swaying drunkenlyhe spurred around the corner of the house and through the gateway. 

Corliss glanced at Wingle. "We can't let him ride into 'em by hislonesome, " said Wingle. "Eh, boys?"

"Not on your fat life!" said Bull Cassidy. "I got one wing that'sworkin' and I'm goin' to fly her till she gits busted. "

"Let's clean 'em up! Might's well do a good job now we're at it. Where's Bud?"

"He's layin' over there back of the chicken-roost. Reckon he'sthinkin' things over. He ain't sayin' much. "

"Bud down, too? Then I guess we ride!" And they swept out afterShorty. They saw the diminutive cowboy tear through the band ofherders, his gun going; saw his horse stumble and fall and a figurepitch from the saddle and roll to one side. "And if I'm goin'--I wantto go out that way, " shouted Bull Cassidy. "Shorty was some sport!"

But the Mexicans had had enough of it. They wheeled and spurred towardthe south. The Concho horses, worn out by the night-journey, were soondistanced. 

Corliss pulled up. "Catch up a fresh horse, Hi. And let Banks knowhow things stand. If Loring isn't all in, you might fetch the doctorback with you. We'll need him, anyway. "

"Sure! Wonder who that is fannin' it this way? Don't look like apuncher. "

Corliss turned and gazed down the road. From the south came littlepuffs of dust as a black-and-white pinto running at top speed swepttoward them. He paled as he recognized the horse. 

"It's Loring's girl, " said Wingle, glancing at Corliss. 

Nell Loring reined up as she came opposite the Concho riders and turnedfrom the road. The men glanced at each other. Then ensued an awkwardsilence. The girl's face was white and her dark eyes burned withreproach as she saw the trampled sheep and here and there the figure ofa man prone on the mesa. Corliss raised his hat as she rode up. Shesat her horse gazing at the men. Without a word she turned and rodetoward the ranch-house. The Concho riders jingled along, in no hurryto face the scene which they knew awaited them at the water-hole. 

She was on her knees supporting her father's head when they dismountedand shuffled into the yard. The old sheep-man blinked and tried toraise himself. One of the Concho boys stepped forward and helped herget the wounded man to the house. 

Corliss strode to the bedroom and spoke to Sundown who turned and satup. "Get hit, Sun?"

"No. But I'm feelin' kind of sick. Is the ole man dead?"

"He's hurt, but not bad. We want the bed. "

Sundown got to his feet and sidled past the girl as she helped herfather to the bed. 

"I sent for the doctor, " said Corliss. 

The girl whirled and faced him. "You!" she exclaimed--"You!"

The rancher's shoulders straightened. "Yes--and it was my gun got him. You might as well know all there is to it. " Then he turned and, followed by Sundown, stepped to the yard. "We'll keep busy while we'rewaiting. Any of you boys that feel like riding can round up the herd. Hi and I will look after--the rest of it. "

"And Bud, " suggested a rider. 

They found Shoop on the ground, the flesh of his shoulder torn away bya . 45 and a welt of red above his ear where a Mexican's bullet hadcreased him. They carried him to the house. "Sun, you might stiraround and rustle some grub. The boys will want to eat directly. " AndCorliss stepped to the water-trough, washed his hands, and then rolleda cigarette. Hi Wingle sat beside him as they waited for dinner. Suddenly Corliss turned to his cook. "I guess we've won out, Hi, " hesaid. 

"Generally speakin'--we sure have, " said Wingle. "But I reckon _you_lost. "

Corliss nodded. 

CHAPTER XXVII

"JUST ME AND HER"

Sheriff Banks tossed Corliss's note on his desk, reached in his pocketand drew forth a jack-knife with which he began to trim hisfinger-nails. He paid no apparent attention to the arrival of one ofhis deputies, but proceeded with his manipulation of the knife. Thedeputy sidled to a chair and sat watching the sheriff. 

Presently Banks closed his knife, slid it into his pocket, and leanedback in his chair. "Lone Johnny gone back?" he queried. 

The deputy nodded. 

Banks proffered his companion a cigar and lit one himself. For a whilehe smoked and gazed at the ceiling. "I got two cards to play, " hesaid, straightening up and brushing cigar-ash from his vest. "Lastelection was pretty close. By rights I ought to be at the county-seat. Got any idea why they side-tracked me here in Antelope?"

The deputy grinned. "It's right handy to the line. And I guess theysaw what was comin' and figured to put you up against it. Theycouldn't beat you at the polls, so they tried to put you where youwouldn't come back. "

"Correct. And there's no use running against the rope. Now I want youto call on every citizen in Antelope and tell every dog-goned one of'em what Lone Johnny kind of hinted at regarding the Concho and Loring. And show 'em this note from Jack. Tell 'em I'm going to swear in eachof 'em as a special. I want to go on record as having done what Icould. "

The deputy rose. "All right, Jim. Kind of late to make that move, ain't it?"

"I got another card, " said the sheriff. "Tell 'em we'll be ready tostart about twelve. It's ten, now. "

With the departure of the deputy the sheriff reached in his desk andbrought forth a book. It was thumbed and soiled. He turned the pagesslowly, pausing to read a line here and there. Finally he settled backand became immersed in the perennial delight of "Huckleberry Finn. " Heread uninterruptedly for an hour, drifting on the broad current of theMississippi to eventually disembark in Antelope as the deputy shadowedthe doorway. The sheriff closed the book and glanced up. He read hisanswer in the deputy's eyes. 

"'T ain't that they don't like you, " said the deputy. "But they ain'tone of 'em that'll do anything for Loring or do anything against JackCorliss. "

The sheriff smiled. "Public opinion is setting on the fence andhanging on with both hands. All right, Joe. I'll play her alone. Igot a wire from Hank that he's got the herder, Fernando. Due here onthe two-thirty. You hang around and tell Hank to keep on--take theMexican along up to Usher. "

"Goin' to go after the Concho boys and Loring's herders?"

"Sure thing. And I'm going alone. Then they won't make a fuss. They'll come back with me all right. "

"But you couldn't get a jury to send one of 'em over--not in thiscounty. "

"Correct, Joe. But the county's paying me to go through themotions--don't matter what I think personally. If they've pulled off ashooting-match at the water-hole, the thing's settled by this time. Ithad to come and if it's over, I'm dam' glad. It'll clear the air forquite a spell to come. "

"The papers'll sure make a holler--" began the deputy. 

"Not so much as you think. They got one good reason to keep still andthat's because the free range is like to be opened up to homesteadersany day. Too much noise about cattle-and-sheep war would scare goodmoney from coming to the State. I heard the other day that thatSundown Jack picked up is settled at the water-hole. I took him for atenderfoot once. I reckon he ain't. It's hard to figure on thosequeer kind. Well, you meet the two-thirty. I guess I'll ride over tothe Concho and see the boys. "

The Loring-Corliss case is now a matter of record in the dusty files ofthe "Usher Sentinel" and its decidedly disesteemed contemporary, the"Mesa News. " The case was dismissed for lack of anything like definiteevidence, though Loring and Corliss were bound over to keep the peace. Incidentally one tall and angular witness refused to testify, and wassentenced to pay a not insignificant fine for contempt of court. Thathis fine was promptly paid by Corliss furnished a more or lessgratuitous excuse for a wordy vilification of the rancher and his"hireling assassin, " "menace to public welfare, " and the like. Sundown, however, stuck to his guns, even to the extent of searchingout the editor of the "Mesa News" and offering graciously to engage inhand-to-hand combat, provided the editor, or what was left of him afterthe battle, would insert an apology in the next issue of the paper--theapology to be dictated by Sundown. 

The editor temporized by asking the indignant Sundown to frame theapology, which he did. Then the wily autocrat of the "Mesa News, "after reading the apology, agreed to an armistice and mentioned thefact that it was a hot day. Sundown intimated that he knew one or twoplaces in Usher which he was not averse to visiting under thecircumstances. And so the treaty was ratified. 

Perhaps among Sundown's possessions there is none so cherished, speaking broadly, as a certain clipping from an Arizona newspaper inwhich the editor prints a strangely worded and colorful apology, abovehis personal signature, for having been misled temporarily in hisestimation of a "certain person of warlike proclivities who visited oursanctum bent upon eradicating us in a physical sense. " The apologyfollows. In a separate paragraph, however, is this information:

"We find it imperative, however, to state that the above apology is apersonal matter and in no wise affects our permanent attitude towardthe lawlessness manifest so recently in our midst. Moreover, we wereforced at the muzzle of a six-shooter, in the hands of theabove-mentioned Sundown, to insert that illiterate and blood-thirstygentleman's screed in the MESA NEWS, as he, together with the gang ofcutthroats with whom he seems in league, stood over us with drawnweapons until the entire issue had been run off. Such is the conditionof affairs under the present corrupt administration of our sufferingState. "

Such advertising, Sundown reflected, breathing of battle and carnage, would obviate the necessity for future upholding of his reputation in aphysical sense. Great is the power of the press! It became whisperedabout that he was a two-gun man of dexterous attainments in dispensinglead and that his mild and even apologetic manner was but a cloak. Accident and the tongues of men earned for Sundown that peace which heso thoroughly loved. He became immune to strife. When he felt hisoutward attitude sagging a little, he re-read the clipping and bracedup. 

Sundown rode to the Concho gate, dismounted and opened it. Chance ranahead, leaping up as Corliss came from the ranch-house. 

"Got them holes plugged in the tank, " said Sundown. "Got the enginerunnin' ag'in and things is fine. You goin' to put them cattle back onthe water-hole range?"

"Yes, as soon as Bud can get around again. He's up, but he can't rideyet. "

"How's Bull?"

"Oh, he's all right. Mebby-So's laid up yet. He got it pretty bad. "

"Well, I reckon they ain't goin' to be no more fightin' 'bout cattleand sheep. I stopped by to the Loring ranch. Ole man Loring was sureugly, so I reckon he's feelin' nacheral ag'in. He was like to get madat me for stopping but his gal, Nell, she smoothed down his wool andasked me to stay and eat. I wasn't feelin' extra hungry, so I comealong up here. "

"I have some good news, " said Corliss. "Got a letter from Billy lastweek. Didn't have time to tell you. He's working for a broker in'Frisco. I shouldn't wonder if he should turn up one of these days. How would you like to drive over to Antelope and meet him when hecomes?"

"I'd sure be glad. Always did like Billy. 'Course you don't know whenhe's comin'--and I got to do some drivin' meself right soon. "

"So?"

"Yep. 'Course I got the wagon, but they ain't no style to that. I waswantin' a rig with style to it--like the buckboard. " Sundown fidgetednervously with the buttons of his shirt. He coughed, took off his hat, and mopped his face with a red bandanna. Despite his efforts he grewwarmer and warmer. He was about to approach a delicate subject. Finally he seized the bull by the horns, so to speak, and his tannedface grew red. "I was wantin' to borrow that buckboard, mebby, Saturday. "

"Sure! Going to Antelope?"

"Nope--not first. I got business over to Chico Miguel's place. I'mgoin' to call on a lady. "

"Oh, I see! Anita?"

"Well, I sure ain't goin' to call on her ma--she's married a'ready. "

Despite himself, Corliss smiled. "So that's what you wanted that newbed and table and the chairs for. Did they get marked up much comingin?"

"The legs some. I rubbed 'em with that hoss-liniment you give me. Youcan hardly tell. It kind of smelled like turpentine, and I didn't havenothin' else. "

"Well, anything you want--"

"I know, boss. But this is goin' to be a quiet weddin'. Nobrass-bands or ice-cream or pop-corn or style. Just me and herand--and I reckon a priest, seein' she was brung up that way. I ain'tasked her yet. "

"What? About getting married, or the priest?"

"Nothin'. We got kind of a eye-understandin' and her ma and me is goodfriends. It's like this. Bein' no hand to do love-makin' stylish, Ijust passes her a couple of bouquets onct or twict and said a fewwords. Now, you see, if I get that buckboard and a couple of hosses--Isure would like the white ones--and drive over lookin' like businessand slip the ole man a box of cigars I bought, and Mrs. Miguel thatthere red-and-yella serape I paid ten dollars for in Antelope, and showAnita me new contract with the Concho for pumpin' water forseventy-five bones a month, I reckon the rest of it'll come easy. I'mfigurin' strong on them white hosses, likewise. Bein' white'll kind oflook like gettin' married, without me sayin' it. You see, boss, I'mshort on the Spanish talk and so I have to do some figurin'. "

"Well, Sun, you have come along a lot since you first hit the Concho!Go ahead, and good luck to you! If you need any money--"

"I was comin' to that. Seein' as you kind of know me--and seein' I'mgoin' to git hitched--I was thinkin' you might lend me mebby a hundredon the contrac'. "

"I guess I can. Will that be enough?"

"Plenty. You see I was figurin' on buyin' a few head of stock to runwith yourn on the water-hole range. "

"Why, I can let you have the stock. You can pay me when you get ready. "

"That's just it. You'd kind of give 'em to me and I ain't askin'favors, except the buckboard and the white hosses. "

"But what do you want to monkey with cattle for? You're doing prettywell with the water. "

"That's just it. You see, Anita thinks I'm a rarin', high-ridin', cussin', tearin', bronco-bustin' cow-puncher from over the hill. Ireckon you know I ain't, but I got to live up to it and kind of let herdown easy-like. I can put on me spurs and chaps onct or twict a weekand go flyin' out and whoopin' around me stock, and scarin' 'em todeath, pertendin' I'm mighty interested in ridin' range. If you got alady's goat, you want to keep it. 'Course, later on, I can kind o'slack up. Then I'm goin' to learn her to read American, and she canread that piece in the paper about me. I reckon that'll kind of cinchup the idea that her husband sure is the real thing. But I got to havethem cows till she can learn to read. "

"We've got to brand a few yearlings that got by last round-up. Budsaid there was about fifteen of them. You can ride over after you getsettled and help cut 'em out. What iron do you want to put on them?"

"Well, seein' it's me own brand, I reckon it will be like this: A kindof half-circle for the sun, and a lot of little lines runnin' out toshow that it's shinin', and underneath a straight line meanin' theearth, which is 'Sundown'--me own brand. Could Johnny make one likethat?"

"I don't know. That's a pretty big order. You go over and tell Johnnywhat you want. And I'll send the buckboard over Saturday. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

IMPROVEMENTS

Out in a field bordered by the roadway a man toiled behind adisk-plough. He trudged with seven-league strides along the furrows, disdaining to ride on the seat of the plough. To effect a comfortablefollowing of his operations he had lengthened the reins withclothes-line. He drove a team of old and gentle white horses aswheelers. His lead animals were mules, neither old nor gentle. It ispossible that this fact accounted for his being afoot. He was arrayedin cowboy boots and chaps, a faded flannel shirt, and a Stetson. Despite the fact that a year had passed since he had practically"Lochinvared" the most willing Anita, --though with the full and joyousconsent of her parents, --he still clung to the habiliments of thecowboy, feeling that they offset the more or less menial requirementsof tilling the soil. Behind him trailed a lean, shaggy wolf-dog whonosed the furrows occasionally and dug for prairie-dogs withintermittent zest. 

The toiler, too preoccupied with his ploughing to see more than hishorses' heads and the immediate unbroken territory before them, did notrealize that a team had stopped out on the road and that a man hadleaped from the buckboard and was standing at the fence. Chance, however, saw the man, and, running to Sundown, whined. Sundown pulledup his team and wiped his brow. "Hurt your foot ag'in?" he queried. "Nope? Then what's wrong?"

The man in the road called. 

Sundown wheeled and stood with mouth open. "It's--Gee Gosh! It'sBilly!"

He observed that a young and fashionably attired woman sat in thebuckboard holding the team. He fumbled at his shirt and buttoned it atthe neck. Then he swung his team around and started toward the fence. 

Will Corliss, attired in a quiet-hued business suit, his cheekshealthfully pink and his eye clear, smiled as the lean one tied theteam and stalked toward him. 

Corliss held out his hand. Sundown shook his head. "Excuse me, Billy, but I ain't shakin' hands with you across no fence. "

And Sundown wormed his length between the wires and straightened up, extending a tanned and hairy paw. "Shake, pardner! Say, you'relookin' gorjus!"

"My wife, " said Corliss. 

Sundown doffed his sombrero sweepingly. "Welcome to Arizona, ma'am. "

"This is my friend, Washington Hicks, Margery. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Sundown. "It ain't my fault, neither. I hadnothin' to say about it when they hitched that name onto me. I reckonI hollered, but it didn't do no good. Me pals"--and Sundown shruggedhis shoulder--"mostly gents travelin' for their health--got to callin'me Sundown, which is more poetical. 'Course, when I got married--"

"Married!" exclaimed Corliss, grinning. 

"You needn't to grin, Billy. Gettin' married's mightyresponsible-like. "

Corliss made a gesture of apology. "So you're homesteading thewater-hole? Jack wrote to me about it. He didn't say anything aboutyour getting married. "

"Kind of like his not sayin' anything about your gettin' hitched up, eh? He said he was hearin' from you, but nothin' about Misses Corliss. Please to expect my congratulations, ma'am--and you, too, Billy. "

"Thank you!" said Mrs. Corliss, smiling. "Will has told me a greatdeal about you. "

"He has, eh? Well, I'm right glad to be acquainted by heresy. It kindof puts you on to what to expect. But say, it's hot here. If you'lldrive back to me house, I'd sure like to show you the improvements. "

"All right, Sun! We'll drive right in and wait for you. "

They did not have to wait, however. Sundown, leaving his team at thefence, took a short cut to the house. He entered the back door andcalled to Anita. 

"Neeter, " he said, as she hastened to answer him, "they's some friendsof mine just drivin' up. If you could kind of make a quick change andput on that white dress with the leetle roses sprinkled on it--quick;and is--is he sleepin'?"

"Si! He is having the good sleep. "

"Fine! I'll hold 'em off till you get fixed up. It's me ole pal, Billy Corliss, --and he's brung along a wife. We got to make a goodfront, seein' it's kind of unexpected. Wrastle into that purty dressand don't wake him up. "

"Si! I go queek. "

"Why, this is fine!" said Corliss, entering, hat in hand, and gazingabout the room. "It's as snug and picturesque as a lodge. "

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the enthusiastic Margery, gazing at the Navajorugs, the clean, white-washed walls against which the red ollas, filledwith wild flowers, made a pretty picture, and the great grizzly-bearrug thrown across a home-made couch. "It's actually romantic!"

"Me long suit, lady. We ain't got much, but what we got goes with thiskind of country. "

Margery smiled. "Oh, Will, I'd like a home like this. Just simple andclean--and comfortable. It's a real home. "

"Me wife's comin' in a minute. While she's--er--combin' her hair, mebby you'd like to see some of the improvements. " And Sundown marchedproudly to the new dining-room--an extension that he had builthimself--and waved an invitation for his guests to behold and marvel. 

The dining-room was, in its way, also picturesque. The exceedinglyplain table was covered with a clean white cloth. The furniture, owingto some fortunate accident of choice, was not ornate but of plainstraight lines, redeemed by painted ollas filled with flowers. Thewhite walls were decorated with two pictures, a lithograph of theMadonna, --which seemed entirely in keeping with the general tone of theroom, but which would have looked glaringly out of place anywhereelse, --and an enlarged full-length photograph, framed, of anexceedingly tall and gorgeous cowboy, hat in hand, quirt on wrist, andlooking extremely impressive. Beside the cowboy stood a great, shaggydog--Chance. And, by chance, the picture was a success. 

"Why, it's you, Sun!" exclaimed Corliss, striding to the picture. "Andit's a dandy! I'd hang it in the front room. "'

"That's what Neeter was sayin'. But I kind of like it in here. Yousee, Neeter sets there and I set here where I can see me picture whileI'm eatin'. It kind of gives me a good appetite. 'Course, lookin' outthe window is fine. See them there mesas dancin' in the sun, and thegrass wavin' and me cows grazing and 'way off like in a dream them bluehills! It's sure a millionaire picture! And it don't cost nothin'. "

"That's the best of it!" said Corliss heartily. "We're going tobuild--over on the mesa near the fork. You remember?"

Sundown's flush was inexplicable to Margery, but Corliss understood. He had ridden the trail toward the fork one night. . . . But that waspast, atoned for. . . . He would live that down. 

"It's a purty view, over there, " said Sundown gently. 

And the two men felt that that which was not forgotten was at leastforgiven--would never again be mentioned. 

"And me kitchen, " said Sundown, leading the way, "is Neeter's. Sheruns it. There's more good eats comes out of it than they is fancycrockery in it, which just suits me. And out here"--and the partyprogressed to the back yard--"is me new corral and stable andchicken-coop. I made all them improvements meself, durin' the winter. Reckon you saw the gasoline-engine what does the pumpin' for the tanks. I wanted to have a windmill, but the engine works faster. It's kind ofhot, ma'am, and if you'll come in and set down I reckon me wife's gother hair--"

"Wah! Wah! Wah!" came in a crescendo from the bedroom. 

Sundown straightened his shoulders. "Gee Gosh, he's gone and give itaway, already!"

Corliss and his wife glanced at their host inquisitively. 

"Me latest improvement, " said Sundown, bowing, as Anita, a plump brownbaby on her arm, opened the bedroom door and stood bashfully looking atthe strangers. 

"And me wife, " he added. 

Corliss bowed, but Margery rushed to Anita and held out her arms. "Oh, let me take him!" she cried. "What big brown eyes! Let me hold him!I'll be awfully careful! Isn't he sweet!"

They moved to the living-room where Anita and Margery sat side by sideon the couch with the baby absorbing all their attention. 

Sundown stalked about the room, his hands in his pockets, vainlyendeavoring to appear very mannish and unconcerned, but his eye rovedunceasingly to the baby. He was the longest and most upstandingsix-feet-four of proud father that Margery or her husband had ever hadthe pleasure of meeting. 

"He's got Neeter's eyes--and--and her--complexion, but he's sure got mestyle. He measures up two-feet-six by the yardstick what we got withbuyin' a case of bakin'-soda, and he ain't a yearlin' yet. I don'tjust recollec' the day but I reckon Neeter knows. "

"He's great!" exclaimed Corliss. "Isn't he, Margery?"

"He's just the cutest little brown baby!" said Margery, hugging theplump little body. 

"He--he ain't so _turruble_ brown, " asserted Sundown. "'Course, he'stanned up some, seein' we keep him outside lots. I'm kind o' tanned upmeself, and I reckon he takes after me. "

"He has a head shaped just like yours, " said Margery, anxious to pleasethe proud father. 

"Then, " said Sundown solemnly, "he's goin' to be a pole. "

Anita, proud of her offspring, her husband, her neat and clean home, laughed softly, and held out her arms for the baby. With a kick and astruggle the young Sundown wriggled to her arms and snuggled againsther, gravely inspecting the pink roses on his mother's white dress. They were new to him. He was more used to blue gingham. The roseswere interesting. 

"Yes, Billy's me latest improvement, " said Sundown, anxious to asserthimself in view of the presence of so much femininity and acorrespondingly seeming lack of vital interest in anything save thebaby. 

"Billy!" said Corliss, turning from where he had stood gazing out ofthe window. 

"Uhuh! We named him Billy after you. "

Corliss turned again to the window. 

Sundown stepped to him, misinterpreting his silence. He put his handon Corliss's shoulder. "You ain't mad 'cause we called him that, beyou?"

"Mad! Say, Sun, "--and Corliss laughed, choked, and brushed his eyes. "Sun, I don't deserve it. "

"Well, seein' what I been through since I was his size, I reckon Idon't either. But he's here, and you're here and your wife--and thingsis fine! The sun is shinin' and the jiggers out on the mesa ischirkin' and to-morrow's goin' to be a fine day. There's nothin' likebankin' on to-morrow, 'specially if you are doin' the best you kintoday. " And with this bit of philosophy, Sundown, motioning toCorliss, excused himself and his companion as they strode to thedoorway and out to the open. There they talked about many thingshaving to do with themselves and others until Margery, hailing themfrom the door, told them that dinner was waiting. 

After dinner the men foregathered in the shade of an acacia and smoked, saying little, but each thinking of the future. Sundown in hispeculiarly optimistic and half-melancholy way, and Corliss with mingledfeelings of hope and regret. He had endeavored to live down his pastaway from home. He had succeeded in a measure: had sought and foundwork, had become acquainted with his employer's daughter, told herfrankly of his previous manner of life, and found, not a little to hisastonishment, that she had faith in him. Then he wrote to his brother, asking to come back. John Corliss was more than glad to realize thatWill had straightened up. If the younger man was willing to reclaimhimself among folk who knew him at his worst, there must be somethingto him. So Corliss had asked his brother to give him his employer'saddress; had written to the employer, explaining certain factsregarding Will's share in the Concho, and also asking that he urge Willto come home. Just here Miss Margery had something to say, theultimate result of which was a more definite understanding all around. If Will was going back to Arizona, Margery was also going. And asMargery was a young woman quietly determined to have her way when sheknew that it was right to do so, they were married the day before WillCorliss was to leave for Arizona. This was to be their honeymoon. 

All of which was in Will Corliss's mind as he lay smoking and gazing atthe cloudless sky. It may be added to his credit that he had notreturned because of the money that was his when he chose to claim it. Rather, he had realized--and Margery had a great deal to do with hisnewer outlook--that so long as he stayed away from home he wasconfessing to cowardice. Incidentally Margery, being utterly feminine, wanted to see Arizona and the free life of the range, of which Corlisshad told her. As for Nell Loring . . . Corliss sighed. 

"It sure is hot, " muttered Sundown. "'Course, you'll stay over andlight out in the mornin' cool. You and me can sleep in the front room. 'T ain't the fust time we rustled for a roost. And the wimmen-folkscan bunk in the bedroom. Billy he's right comf'table in his bigclothes-basket. He's a sure good sleeper, if I do say it. "

"We could have gone on through, " said Corliss, smiling. "Of coursewe'd have been late, but Margery likes driving. "

"Well, if you had 'a' gone through--and I'd 'a' _ketched_ you atit--I--I--I'd 'a' changed Billy's name to--to somethin' else. " AndSundown frowned ferociously. 

Corliss laughed. "But we didn't. We're here--and it's mighty good tobreathe Arizona air again. You never really begin to love Arizona tillyou've been somewhere else for a while. "

"And bein' married helps some, too, " suggested Sundown. 

"Yes, a whole lot. Margery's enthusiasm makes me see beautiful thingsthat I'd passed a hundred times before I knew her. "

"That's correc', " concurred Sundown. "Now, take Gentle Annie, forinstance--"

"You mean Mrs. --er--Sundown?"

"Nope! Me tame cow. 'Annie' is American for 'Anita, ' so I called herthat. Now, that there Gentle Annie's just a regular cow. She ain'tpurty--but she sure gives plenty milk. Neeter got me to seein' thatGentle Annie's eyes was purty and mournful-like and that she was aright handsome cow. If your wife's pettin' and feedin' somethin', andcallin' it them there smooth Spanish names, a fella's wise to do thesame. It helps things along. "

"Little Billy, for instance, " suggested Corliss. 

"Leetle Billy is right! But he couldn't help bein' good-lookin', Iguess. He's different. Fust thing your wife said wuz he took afterhis pa. "

"You haven't changed much, " said Corliss, smiling. 

"Me? Mebby not--outside; but say, inside things is different. I gotfeelin's now what I never knowed I had before. Why, sometimes, whenNeeter is rockin' leetle Bill, and singing and me settin' in the door, towards evenin', and everything fed up and happy, why, do you know, Ifeel jest like cryin'. Plumb foolish, ain't it?"

"I don't know about that, Sun. "

"Well, you will some day, " asserted Sundown, taking him literally. "'Tain't gettin' married what makes a man, but it's a dum' poor one whatdon't make the best of things if he is hitched up to a good girl. Onlyone thing--it sure don't give a fella time to write much po'try. "

Corliss did not smile. "You're living the poetry, " he said with simplesincerity. 

"Which is correc', Billy. And speakin' of po'try, I reckon I got to gofeed them pigs. They's gruntin' somethin' scand'lous for havin'comp'ny to our house--and anyhow, they's like to wake up leetle Bill. "

And Sundown departed to feed his pigs. 

CHAPTER XXIX

A MAN'S COUNTRY

"As for that, " said John Corliss, gazing out across the mesa, "Loringand I shook hands--over the line fence. That's settled. "

Sundown had just dismounted. He stood holding the reins of his oldsaddle-horse "Pill. " He had ridden to the Concho to get his monthlypay. "And pore leetle ole Fernando--he's gone, " said Sundown. "That'sjest the difference between _one_ fella doin' what he thinks is rightand a _bunch_ of fellas shootin' up themselves. The one fella gets itevery time. The bunch, bein' so many of 'em, gets off. Mebby that'slaw, but it ain't fair. "

"There's a difference, Sun. A fight in the open and downing a man fromambush--two mighty different things. "

"Well, mebby. But I'm feelin' sad for that leetle Fernando jest thesame. --That Billy's new house?"

"Yes. They expect to get settled this month. "

"Gee Gosh! I been so busy I missed a bunch of days. Reckon I got torustle up somethin' for a weddin' present. I know, be Gosh! I'll send'em me picture. Billy was kind of stuck on it. "

"Good idea, Sun. But I guess you'll miss it yourself. "

"I dunno. Neeter ain't lookin' at it as much as she used to. She'sbusy lookin' after leetle Bill--and me. 'Course I can get another onetook most any time. "

"Make it two and give me one, " said Corliss. 

"You ain't joshin'?"

"No. I'll hang it in the office. "

"Then she gets took--immediate. "

Chance, who stood watching the two men, rose and wagged his tail. 

Chance never failed to recognize that note in his master's voice. Itmeant that his master was pleased, enthusiastic, happy, and Chance, loyal companion, found his happiness in that of his friends. 

"Well, " said Sundown, "I reckon I got to be joggin'. Thanks for thecheck. "

Corliss waved his hand. "I'll step over to the gate with you. Thoughtperhaps you'd stay and see Billy. "

"Nope. I ain't feelin' like meetin' folks today. Don' know why. Sky's clear and fine, but inside I feel like it was goin' to rain. When you comin' down to see leetle Bill and Neeter?"

"Pretty soon. Is Billy well?"

"Well! Gee Gosh! If you could hear the langwidge he uses when Neeterputs him to bed and he don't want to go! Why, yesterday he was on thefloor playin' with Chance and Chance got tired of it and lays down tosnooze. Billy hitches along up to Chance, and _Bim_! he punches Chanceon the nose. Made him sneeze, too! Why, that kid ain't afraid ofnothin'--jest like his pa. I reckon Billy told you that his wife saidthat leetle Billy took after me, eh? Leave it to a woman to see themthings!"

"Well, I'm mighty glad you're settled, and making a go of it, Sun. "

"So be I. I was recollectin' when I fust come into this country andlanded at that water-hole. It was kind of a joke then, but it ain't nojoke now. Funny thing--that bunch of punchers what started me lookin'for that there hotel that time--they come jinglin' up last week. Didn't know I was the boss till one of 'em grins after sizin' me up andsays--er--well, two three words what kids hadn't ought to hear, andthen, 'It's him, boys!' Then I steps out and says, 'It is, gents. Come right in and have dinner and it won't cost you fellas a cent. Itold you I'd feed you up good when I got me hotel to runnin'. ' Andsure enough, in they come and we fed 'em. They was goin' to the Blue. They bunked in me hay that night. Next mornin' they acted kind ofqueer, sayin' nothin' except, 'So-long, ' when they lit out. And whatdo you think! They went and left four dollars and twenty-eight centsin the sugar-bowl--and a piece of paper with it sayin', 'For the kid. 'We never found it out till I was drinkin' me coffee that night andliked to choked to death on a nickel. Guess them punchers ain't sobad. "

"No. They stopped here next day. Said they'd never had a finer feedthan you gave 'em. "

"Neeter is sure some cook. Pretty nigh's good as me. Well, so-long, Jack. I--I--kind of wish you was buildin' a new house yourself. "

Corliss, standing with his hand on the neck of Sundown's horse, smiled. "Arizona's a man's country, Sun. "

"She sure is!" said Sundown, throwing out his chest. "And lemme tellyou, Jack, it's a man's business to get married and settledown--and--raise more of 'em. 'Specially like _me_ and _you_ and Budand Hi--only Hi's gettin' kind of old. She's a fine country, but sheneeds improvin'. Sometimes them improvements keeps you awake nights, but they're worth it!"

"Yes, I believe they're worth it, " said Corliss, "So-long, Sun. "

"So-long, Jack. I got to get back and milk Gentle Annie. We'reswitchin' Billy onto the bottle, and he don't like to be kep' waitin'. "

Chance, following Sundown, trotted behind the horse a few steps, thenturned and ran back to Corliss. He nuzzled the rancher's hand, whined, and leapt away to follow his master. 

THE END