tead he followed Sundown to the camp and found a place under the
chuck-wagon, where he watched his lean companion work over the fires
until midnight. If Sundown disappeared for a minute in search of
something. Chance was up and at his heels. Hi Wingle expressed
himself profanely in regard to the return of the dog, adding with
unction, "There's a pair of 'em; a pair of 'em." Which ambiguity
seemed to satisfy him immensely.

When Sundown finally returned to the lean-to, he was too happy to
sleep. He built a small fire, rolled a cigarette and sat gazing into
the flames. Chance sat beside him, proud, dignified, contented.
Sundown became drowsy and slept, his head fallen forward and his lean
arms crossed upon his knees. Chance waited patiently for him to waken.
Finally the dog nuzzled Sundown's arm with little jerks of impatience.
"What's bitin' you now?" mumbled Sundown. "We're here, ain't we?"
Nevertheless he slipped his arm around the dog's muscular shoulders and
talked to him. "How'd you get away? The boss'll raise peelin's over
this, Chance. It ain't like to set good with him." He noticed that
Chance frequently scratched at his collar as though it irritated him.
Finally he slipped his fingers under the collar. "Suthin' got ketched
in here," he said, unbuckling the strap. Tied inside the collar was a
folded piece of paper. Sundown was about to throw it away when he
reconsidered and unfolded it. In the flickering light of the fire he
spread the paper and read laboriously:--

"Chance followed me to the Concho because I made him come. He showed
that he didn't want to stay. I let him go. If he gets back to you,
keep him. He is yours.

"JOHN CORLISS."

Sundown folded the note and carefully tucked it in his pocket. He rose
and slapped his chest grandiloquently. "Chance, ole pal," he said with
a brave gesture, "you're mine! Got the dockyments to show. What do
you think?"

Chance, with mouth open and lolling tongue, seemed to be laughing.

Sundown reached out his long arm as one who greets a friend.

The dog extended his muscular fore leg and solemnly placed his paw in
Sundown's hand. No document was required to substantiate his
allegiance to his new master, nor his new master's title to ownership.
Despite genealogy, each was in his way a thoroughbred.

CHAPTER XIII

SUNDOWN, VAQUERO

The strenuous days of the round-up were over. Bands of riders departed
for their distant ranches