d--one time or another."

This was going it pretty strong, and I grinned at Windy Bill.

"All right," said Windy, "I'm just telling you."

"Well, what's the matter with you fellows down here?" I challenged. "How
is it he's lasted so long? Why hasn't someone shot him? Are you all
afraid of him or his Mexicans?"

"No, it ain't that, exactly. I don't know. He drives by all alone, and
he don't pack no gun ever, and he's sort of runty--and--I do'no _why_ he
ain't been shot, but he ain't. And if I was you, I'd stick home."

Windy amused but did not greatly persuade me. By this time I was fairly
conversant with the cowboy's sense of humour. Nothing would have tickled
them more than to bluff me out of a harmless excursion by means of
scareful tales. Shortly Windy Bill turned off to examine a distant bunch
of cattle; and so I rode on alone.

It was coming on toward evening. Against the eastern mountains were
floating tinted mists; and the canons were a deep purple. The cattle
were moving slowly so that here and there a nimbus of dust caught and
reflected the late sunlight into gamboge yellows and mauves. The magic
time was near when the fierce, implacable day-genius of the desert would
fall asleep and the soft, gentle, beautiful star-eyed night-genius of
the desert would arise and move softly. My pony racked along in the
desert. The mass that represented Hooper's ranch drew imperceptibly
nearer. I made out the green of trees and the white of walls and
building.

CHAPTER II

Hooper's ranch proved to be entirely enclosed by a wall of adobe ten
feet high and whitewashed. To the outside it presented a blank face.
Only corrals and an alfalfa patch were not included. A wide, high
gateway, that could be closed by massive doors, let into a stable yard,
and seemed to be the only entrance. The buildings within were all
immaculate also: evidently Old Man Hooper loved whitewash. Cottonwood
trees showed their green heads; and to the right I saw the sloped
shingled roof of a larger building. Not a living creature was in sight.
I shook myself, saying that the undoubted sinister feeling of utter
silence and lifelessness was compounded of my expectations and the time
of day. But that did not satisfy me. My aroused mind, casting about,
soon struck it: I was missing the swarms of blackbirds, linnets, purple
finches, and doves that made our own ranch trees vocal. Here were no
birds. Laughing at this simple explanation of my eerie f