and elaborating on the fact that it usually took two of the
best dogs ever whelped to pull down a timber-wolf.

Even Fadeaway, now riding for the Blue, became enthusiastic and boasted
of his former friendship with Chance. When he essayed the intimacy of
patting the dog's head, some of the onlookers doubted him, for Chance
received these overtures with a deep-throated growl.

"He won't let nobody touch him but that Sundown gent," cautioned a
bystander.

"Guess he's loco since he got chewed up," said Fadeaway, retreating.

Chance licked his wounds and recovered slowly. He would lie in the
sun, watching with unwinking gaze the camp and the cluster of men about
it until the form of Sundown loomed through the mass. Then he would
beat the ground with his tail and whine expectantly. As he became
stronger, he ventured to stretch his wound-stiffened muscles in short
pilgrimages to the camp, where the men welcomed him with hearty and
profane zest. Was he not the slayer of their enemy's sheep and the
killer of the timber-wolf? Eventually he was presented with a broad
collar studded with brass spikes, and engraved upon it was the
sanguinary and somewhat ambiguous legend: "Chance--The Killer of the
Concho."

John Corliss, visiting the round-up, rode over to Sundown's tepee, as
it was called. The assistant cook was greasing Chance's wounds.

"How is he getting along?" asked Corliss.

"Fine, boss, fine! This here is some little ole red-cross ward,
believe me! He's gettin' over bein' lame and he eats regular."

"Here, Chance!" called Corliss.

The dog rose stiffly and stalked to his master, smelt of him and wagged
his tail, then stood with lowered head as though pondering some serious
dog-logic.

"He's kind of queer," explained Sundown, "but he's a whole pile better
than he was a spell ago. Had to bring him water and feed him like a
baby cuttin' teeth--though I never seen one doin' that. He wouldn't
let nobody touch him 'ceptin' me."

"Is he able to travel?"

"Oh, some."

"Think he could make it to the Concho?"

Sundown hesitated. "Mebby. Yes, I reckon he could. He can run all
right, only I guess he kind of likes hangin' around me." And Sundown
glanced sideways at Corliss.

"He seems all right. I guess I'll take him back with me. I don't like
the idea of his running loose here."

"He ain't bitin' nobody," assured Sundown.

Corliss glanced shrewdly at the other's lean, questioning face. "Guess