attitude that silenced the dog's joyous welcoming. Chance
sat on his haunches, whined, and did his best by his own attitude to
show that he was in sympathy with his master's strange mood.

John Corliss saw instantly that there was something wrong, and his
hearty greeting lapsed into terse questioning. Sundown pointed toward
the northern mesas.

"What's up?" he queried.

"Sinker--he's dead--over there."

"Sinker?" Corliss ran to the corral, calling to Wingle, who came from
the bunk-house. The cook whisked off his apron, grabbed his hat, and
followed Corliss. "Sinker's done for!" said Corliss. "Saddle up, Hi.
Sun found him out there. Must have had trouble at the water-hole. I
should have sent another man with him."

Wingle, with the taciturnity of the plainsman, jerked the cinchas tight
and swung to the saddle. Sinker's death had come like a white-hot
flash of lightning from the bulked clouds that had shadowed disaster
impending--and in that shadow the three men rode silently toward the
north. Again Corliss questioned Sundown. Tense with the stress of an
emotion that all but sealed his lips, Sundown turned his white face to
Corliss and whispered, "Wait!" The rancher felt that that one terse,
whispered word implied more than he cared to imagine. There was
something uncanny about the man. If the killing of Sinker could so
change the timorous, kindly Sundown to this grim, unbending epitome of
lean death and vengeance, what could he himself do to check the wild
fury of his riders when they heard of their companion's passing from
the sun?

Sinker's horse, grazing, lifted its head and nickered as they rode up.
They dismounted and turned the body over. Wingle, kneeling, examined
the cowboy's six-gun.

Corliss, in a burst of wrath, turned on Sundown. "Damn you, open your
mouth. What do you know about this?"

Sundown bit his nails and glowered at Corliss. "God A'mighty sent
me--" he began.

With a swift gesture Corliss interrupted. "You're working for the
Concho. Was he dead when you found him?"

Sundown slowly raised his arm and pointed across the mesa.

Corliss fingered his belt and bit his lip impatiently.

"A herder--over there to my ranch--done it. Sinker told me--'fore he
crossed over. Said it was 'Sandro. Said he had orders not to shoot.
He tried to bluff 'em off, for they was bringin' sheep to the
water-hole. He said to tell you."

Corliss and Wingle turned from looking at Sundown