ne hoss crossed the ford this morning," announced Shoop, wading
across the stream.

"And Fade got it from in front," commented a puncher. "His tracks is
headed for the Blue."

Again the men were silent. Shoop rolled a cigarette. The splutter of
the sulphur-match, as it burned from blue to yellow, startled them.
They relaxed, cursing off their nervous tension in monosyllables.

"Well, Fade's played his stack, and lost. Jack was sure in the game,
but how far--I dunno. Reckon that's got anything to do with stampedin'
your sheep?" asked Wingle, turning to Loring.

Loring's deep-set eyes flashed. "Fernando reported that a Concho rider
done the job. He didn't say who done it."

"Didn't, eh? And did Fernando say anything about doin' a job himself?"
asked Shoop.

"If you're tryin' to hang this onto any of my herders, you're ridin' on
the wrong side of the river. I reckon you won't have to look far for
the gun that got _him_." And Loring gestured toward the body.

Hi Wingle stooped and pulled Fadeaway's gun from its holster. He spun
the cylinder, swung it out, and invited general inspection. "Fade
never had a chance," he said, lowering the gun. "They's six pills in
her yet. You got to show me he wasn't plugged from behind a rock or
them bushes." And Wingle pointed toward the cottonwoods.

One of the men rode down the canon, searching for tracks. Chance,
following, circled the bushes, and suddenly set off toward the north.

Sundown, who had been watching him, dismounted his horse. "Chance,
there, mebby he's found somethin'."

"Well, he's your dog. Go ahead if you like. Mebby Chance struck a
scent."

"Coyote or lion," said Wingle. "They ain't no trail down them rocks."

Sundown, following Chance, disappeared in the canon. The men covered
Fadeaway's body with a slicker and weighted it with stones. Then they
sent a puncher to Antelope to notify the sheriff.

As they rode into the Concho, they saw that Corliss's horse was in the
corral. Their first anger had cooled, yet they gazed sullenly at
Loring. They were dissatisfied with his interpretation of the killing
and not a little puzzled.

"Where's Fernando?" queried Shoop aggressively.

Loring put the question aside with a wave of his hand. "Jest a minute
afore I go. You're tryin' to hang this onto me or mine. You're wrong.
You're forgettin' they's five hundred of my sheep at the bottom of the
Concho Canon, I guess. They didn't get there