tched
still another ridge, a little higher than the others but a shade less
barren; there were scattered pines and oaks and open grassy places.
From the top of this ridge, half an hour later, he glimpsed a haze of
smoke rising from the little valley just beyond. And when he came to a
place whence he could have an unobstructed view he saw a scattering
flock of sheep, a tiny stream of water and a rickety board shack. It
was from this shelter that the smoke rose. It was high noon and down
there the midday meal was cooking.

Food being cooked right under his nose! All day he had been hungry;
now he was ravenous. So strong was the impulse upon him that he
started down the slope in a direct line to the house, bent upon
flinging open a door and demanding to be fed. But he caught himself up
and sat down in the shade, hidden behind some bushes, and pondered the
situation. The sheep straggled everywhere; he might wait for one of
them to wander off into the bushes and then slip around upon it and
make it his own with a clubbed rifle. Or he might go to the house,
taking his chance.

While he was waiting and watching he saw a man come out of the cabin.
The fellow lounged down to the spring for a pan of water and lounged
back to the house; the eternal Mexican cigaret in his lips sent its
floating ribbon of smoke behind him. Ten minutes later the same man
came out, this time to lie down on the ground under a tree.

"Just one _hombre_," decided Kendric. "A lazy devil of a sheepherder.
There's more than a fair chance that his _siesta_ will last all
afternoon."

At any rate, here appeared his even break. He sprang up, went with
swinging strides down the slope, taking the shortest cut, and reached
the cabin by the back door. The Mexican still lay under his tree.
Kendric looked in at the door. No one there, just a bare, empty untidy
room. It was bedroom, kitchen and dining-room. In the latter capacity
it appealed strongly to Kendric. He went in, set his rifle down, and
rummaged.

There was, of course, a big pot of red beans. And there were
_tortillas_, a great heap of them. Kendric took half a dozen of them,
moistened them in the half pan of water and poured a high heap of beans
on them. Then he rolled the tortillas up, making a monster cylindrical
bean sandwich. A soiled newspaper, with a look almost of antiquity to
it, he found on a shelf and wrapped about his sandwich which he thrust
into the bosom of his shir