" said McKinney, "I'll go along. No, I won't; I'll take a
_pasear_ acrost the street and have a look at a little stuff I brung
up from the ranch yesterday."

"No Christmas," said Curly, staring ahead of himself into the tobacco
smoke, and indulging in a rare soliloquy. "No Christmas dinner--and
this here is in Ameriky!"

It is difficult to tell just how it occurred; but presently, had any
one of us turned to look about him, he must have found himself alone.
The moonlight streamed brilliantly over the long street of Heart's
Desire. . . . The scarred sides of old Carrizo looked so close that
one might almost have touched them with one's hand. . . .

It was about three miles from the street, up over the foot-hills, along
the fiat canon which debouched below the spring where lay the snowbank.
There were different routes which one could take. . . .

I knew the place very well from Curly's description, and found it easy
to follow up the trickle of water which came down the canon from the
spring. Having found the spring, it was easy to locate the spot in the
snowbank where the oysters had been cached. I was not conscious of
tarrying upon the way, yet, even so, there had been feet more swift
than mine. As I came up to the spring, I heard voices and saw two
forms sitting at the edge of the snowbank.

"Here's another one!" called out Dan Anderson as I appeared; and
forthwith they broke into peals of unrighteous laughter. "You're a
little slow; you're number three; Mac was first."

"I thought I heard an elk as I came up," said I, as I sat down beside
the others and tried to look unconcerned, although plainly out of
breath.

"Elk!" snorted McKinney, as he arose and walked to the other edge of
the snowbank. "Here's your elk tracks." McKinney, foreman on
Carrizoso, was an old range-rider, and he was right. Here was the
track, plunging through the snow, and here was a deep hole where an
elk, or something, had digged hurriedly, deeply, and, as it proved,
effectively.

"Elk!" said McKinney again, savagely. "Damn that cow puncher! He took
to his horse, 'course he did, and not one of us thought of ridin'.
Who'd ever think a man would ride up here at all, let alone at night?
Come on, fellers, we might as well go home."

"Well, I'm pleased to have met you, gentlemen," said Anderson, lighting
a philosophic pipe, "and I don't mind walking back with you. It's a
trifle lonesome in the hills after dark. Why didn't you te