rtridges and disappeared, climbing the side of the gulch opposite the
point which held their ambitious marksman.

To Barney's panicky expostulations he had given little heed. "If yore
vitals is as close to your hide as what you claim," Casey had said
impatiently, "an' you don't want any punctures in 'em, git to work an'
git that hide of yourn outa sight. It'll take some diggin'; they's a
lot of yuh to cover."

Barney, therefore, dug like a badger with a dog snuffing at its tail.
Casey, on the other hand, climbed laboriously in the darkness a bluff
he had not attempted to climb by daylight. It was hard work and slow,
for he felt the need of going quietly. What lay over the rim-rock he
did not know, though he meant to find out.

Daylight found him leaning against a smooth ledge which formed a part
of the black capping he had seen from the road. He had spent the night
toiling over boulders and into small gulches and out again, trying to
find some crevice through which he might climb to the top. Now he was
just about where he had been several hours before, and even Casey Ryan
could not help realizing what a fine target he would make if he
attempted to climb back down the bluff to camp before darkness again
hid his movements.

Standing there puffing and wondering what to do next, he saw the two
burros come picking their way toward the spring for their morning drink
and a handful apiece of rolled oats which Barney kept to bait them into
camp. The lead burro was within easy flinging distance of a rock, from
camp, when the thin, unmistakable crack of a rifle-shot came from the
right, high up on the rim somewhere beyond Casey. The lead burro
pitched forward, struggled to get up, fell again and rolled over,
lodging against a rock with its four feet sticking up at awkward angles
in the air.

The second burro, always quick to take alarm, wheeled and went
galloping away down the draw. But he couldn't outgallop the bullet
that sent him in a complete somersault down the slope. Barney might
keep the rest of his rolled oats, for the burros were through wanting
them.

Casey squinted along the rim of black rock that crested the peak
irregularly like a stiff, ragged frill of mourning stuff the gods had
thrown away. He could not see the man who had shot the burros. By the
intervals between shots, Casey guessed that one man was doing the
shooting, though it was probable there were others in the gang. And now
that the burros wer