questions. Sundown, busy washing the dog's wounds, answered as well as
he could. His account of the fight did not suffer for lack of
embellishment, and while he did not absolutely state that he had taken
a hand in the fight, his story implied it.

"Don't see nothin' on you to show you been in a scrap," remarked a
young puncher.

"That's because you can't see in deep enough," retorted Sundown. "If I
wasn't in every jump of that fight, me heart was."

"Better shoot him and put him out of his sufferin'," suggested the
puncher.

Sundown rose from beside the dog. Shoot Chance? Not so long as he
could keep between the dog and the cowboy's gun. The puncher, half in
jest, reached for his holster. Sundown's overwrought nerves gave way.
He dropped to his knees and lifted his long arms imploringly. "Don't!
Don't!" he wailed. "He ain't dead! Don't shoot my pal!"

Bud Shoop, who had kept silent, shouldered the puncher aside. "Cut it
out, Sinker," he growled. "Can't you sabe that Sundown means it?"

Later in the evening, and fortified with a hearty meal. Sundown gave a
revised version of the fight, wherein his participation was modified,
though the story lost nothing in re-telling. And, indeed, his own
achievement, of lugging Chance up the canon trail, awakened a kind of
respect among the easy-going cowboys. To carry an eighty-pound dog up
that trail took sand! Again Sundown had unconsciously won their
respect. Nothing was said about his late return. And his horse had
found its way back to the camp.

Sometime in the night, Bud Shoop was awakened by the man next him.

"What's goin' on?" queried Shoop, rising on his elbow.

"Ask me again," said the puncher. "Listen!"

From the vicinity of the wagon came the gurgle of water and then a
distinctly canine sneeze.

"Dinged if he ain't fussin' with that dog again!" grumbled Shoop. "The
dam' fool!" Which, as it is the spirit which giveth life to the
letter, was not altogether uncomplimentary.

CHAPTER XII

A GIFT

Warned by John Corliss of Loring's evident intent to graze his sheep on
the west side of the Concho River, the cattle-men held a quiet meeting
at the ranch of the Concho and voted unanimously to round up a month
earlier than usual. The market was at a fair level. Beef was in
demand. Moreover, the round-up would, by the mere physical presence of
the riders and the cattle, check for the time being any such move as
Loring contemplat