"And, madre, there is a man--vaquero, or cook, a big man, tall, that
they call Sundown, who works for the Concho. If you see him, please
tell him--that I sent it back." And he gestured toward the table
whereon lay the little canvas sack of gold. "Good-bye!"

He stepped hurriedly from the veranda, climbed to the seat of the
buckboard, and spoke to the driver. For a long time the Senora stood
in the doorway watching the glint of the speeding ponies. Then she
went to her bedroom and knelt before the little crucifix. Her prayer
was, strangely enough, not for Will Corliss. She prayed that the sweet
Madonna would forgive her if she had done wrong.

CHAPTER XI

CHANCE--CONQUEROR

Sundown's return to the camp occasioned some indirect questioning and
not a little comment. He told the story of his adventure at the Concho
in detail up to the point of his conversation with Will Corliss. Then
he lapsed into generalities, exhibiting with some little pride the
wound on his head as evidence of his attempt to prevent the robbery and
incidentally as a reason for being unable to discourse further upon the
subject. His oft-repeated recital invariably concluded with, "I steps
in and tries to stop the first guy when _Wham!_ round goes the room and
I takes a sleep."

The men seemed satisfied with Sundown's graphic account in the main.
Hi Wingle, the cook, asked no questions, but did a great deal of
thinking. He was aware that Will Corliss had returned to the Concho,
and also, through rumor, that Corliss and Fadeaway had been together in
Antelope. The fact that the robbers failed to get the money--so it was
given out--left the drama unfinished, and as such it lacked sustained
interest. There would be no bandits to capture; no further excitement;
so the talk eventually drifted to other subjects.

The assistant cook's evident melancholy finally gave place to a happier
mood as he realized that he had gained a modicum of respect in a camp
where hitherto he had been more or less of a joke. While he grieved
over the events which led up to his newly attained prestige as a man of
nerve, he was not a little proud of the prestige itself, and
principally because he lacked the very quality of courage that he was
now accredited with. Perhaps the fact that he had "played square," as
he saw it, was the true foundation of his attitude.

He discharged his duties as assistant cook with a new and professional
flourish that amused