been soaking the horsehair for
easier plaiting and the dog sniffed at it, watching Sandy closely with
eyes that were dim from thirst and weariness. Sandy patted his knee
encouragingly, and the tired animal seemed suddenly to make up its mind.
Ignoring the water, it came straight to Sandy, uttered a harsh whine,
catching at the leather tassel on the cowman's worn leather chaparejos,
tugging feebly. As Sandy stooped to pat its head, powdered with the
alkali dust that covered its coat, the collie released its hold and
collapsed on one side, panting, utterly exhausted, with glazing eyes
that held appeal.

Sandy reached for the pan, squatting down, and chucked some water from
the palm of his hand into the open jaws, upon the swollen tongue. The
dog licked his hand, whined again, tried to stand up, failed, succeeded
with the aid of friendly fingers in its ruff and eagerly lapped a few
mouthfuls.

Again it seized the tassel and pulled, looking up into Sandy's face
imploringly.

"Somethin' wrong," said the manager of the Three Star. "Tryin' to tell
us about it. All right, ol' feller, you drink some more wateh. Let me
look at that paw." He gently took the foot that clawed at his chaps and
examined it. The pad was worn to the quick, bleeding. "Come out of the
Bad Lands," he said, looking toward the range. "Through Pyramid Pass,
likely."

"Some derned sheepman gone crazy an' shot his-self," grumbled Sam.
"Somethin' bound to spile a quiet afternoon."

"Not many sheep over that way," said Mormon. "No range."

Sandy rolled the dog on his side and found the other pads in the same
condition. Running his fingers beneath the ruff, scratching gently in
sign of friendship, he discovered a leather collar with a brass tag,
rudely engraved, the lettering worn but legible.

GRIT. Prop. P. Casey.

"They sure named you right, son," he said. "We'll 'tend to P. Casey,
soon's we've 'tended to you. You need fixin' if you're goin' to take us
to him. You'll have to hoof it till we cut fair trail. Sam, fetch me
some adhesive, will you? An' then saddle up; Pronto fo' me, a hawss fo'
yoreself an' rope a spare mount."

"What for? The spare?"

"Don't know for sure. May have to bring him back."

"A sheepman to Three Star! I'd as soon have a sick rattler around.
Mormon, yo're elected to nurse him."

Sam went into the house for the medical tape, then to the corral. Sandy
bathed the raw pads softly, cut patches of the tape with his knife, put