them. They recalled the incident of the Red Dog, and for a long time
his thoughts dwelt on it, straight, grim lines in his face.

He wondered what Betty would say when she heard of it. Would it affect
her future relations with Taggart? His thoughts were still of Betty
when the wagon careened out of the level and began to crawl up a slope
that led through some hills. The trail grew hazardous, and the horses
were forced to proceed slowly. It was near midnight when the wagon
dipped into a little gully about a mile and a half from the ranchhouse.
Calumet halted the horses at the bottom of the gully, allowing them to
drink from the shallow stream that trickled on its way to meet the
river which passed through the wood near the ranchhouse.

After the animals had drunk their fill he urged them on again, for he
was weary of the ride and anxious to have it over with. It was a long
pull, however, and the horses made hard work of it, so that when they
reached the crest of the rise they halted of their own accord and stood
with their legs braced, breathing heavily.

Calumet waited patiently. He was anxious to get to the Lazy Y, but his
sympathy was with the horses. He rolled and lighted another cigarette,
holding the match concealed in the palm of his hand so that the breeze
might not extinguish it.

Sitting thus, a premonition of danger oppressed him with such force and
suddenness that it caused him to throw himself quickly backward. At
the exact instant that his back struck the lumber piled behind him he
heard the sharp, vicious crack of a rifle, and a bullet thudded dully
into one of the wooden stanchions of the wagon frame at the edge of the
seat. Another report followed it quickly, and Calumet flung himself
headlong toward the rear of the wagon, where he lay for a brief
instant, alert, rigid, too full of rage for utterance.

But he was not too angry to think. The shots, he knew, had come from
the left of the wagon. They had been too close for comfort, and
whoever had shot at him was a good enough marksman, although, he
thought, with a bitter grin, a trifle too slow of movement to do any
damage to him.

His present position was precarious and he did not stay long in it.
Close to the side of the wagon--the side opposite that from which the
shots had come--was a shallow gully, deep enough to conceal himself in
and fringed at the rear by several big boulders. It was an ideal
position and Calumet did not hesitat