hands, finally tossed them over the rim-rock of the canon
edging their camp. "It's a fool game," he said. And Bartley knew, by the
otter's tone, that he did not alone refer to the game of dice.

The air was thin, clear, and vital with a quality that the air of the
lower country lacked. Bartley felt an ambition to settle down and go to
writing. He thought that he now had material enough and to spare. They
were in a country, vast, fenceless, verdant--almost awesome in its
timbered silences. His imagination was stirred.

From their noon camp they rode into the timber and from the timber into
a mountain meadow, knee-deep with lush grass. There was no visible trail
across the meadow but the horses seemed to know which way to go. After
crossing the meadow, Filaree, leading the cavalcade, turned and took a
steep trail down the side of a hidden canon, a mighty chasm, rock-walled
and somber. At the bottom the horses drank, and, crossing the stream,
climbed the farther side. In an hour they were again on the rim,
plodding noiselessly through the sun-flecked shadows of the giant
spruce.

"How about that surprise?" queried Bartley.

"Ain't this good enough?" said Cheyenne, gesturing roundabout.

"Gosh, yes! Lead on, Macduff."

About four that afternoon the horses pricked their ears and quickened
their pace. Filaree and Joshua especially seemed interested in getting
along the silent trail; and presently the trail merged with another
trail, more defined. A few hundred yards down this trail, and Bartley
saw a big log cabin; to the left and beyond it a corral, empty, and with
the bars down. Bartley had never seen the place before, and did not
realize where he was, yet he had noticed that the horses seemed to know
the place.

"We won't stop by," said Cheyenne.

"Any one live there?"

"Sneed used to," stated Cheyenne.

Then Bartley knew that they were not far from the San Andreas Valley
and--well, the Lawrence ranch.

They dropped down a long trail into another canon which finally spread
to a green valley dotted with ranches. The horses stepped briskly.
Presently, rounding a bend, they saw a ranch-house, far below, and
sharply defined squares of alfalfa.

"That house with the red roof--" said Bartley.

"That's her," asserted Cheyenne, a trifle ambiguously.

"Then we've swung round in a circle."

"We done crossed the res'avation, pardner. And we didn't see a dog-gone
Injun."

Little Jim was the first to catch sight o