ough force of habit he reached for his apron to wipe
his hand--his invariable preliminary before he shook hands with any
one. His apron being off, he hesitated, then stepped to his employer.
"It sure is," he said, "and I'm ridin' with you."

They shook hands. Moved by a mutual impulse they glanced at the long,
rigid shape covered with a blanket. "When the boys come--" began
Wingle.

"It will be out of our hands," concluded Corliss.

"If Sun--"

"I ought to ride out after him," said Corliss, nodding. "But I can't
leave. And you can't."

Wingle stepped to the doorway and shaded his eyes. Far out on the mesa
the diminishing figure of a horseman showed black against the glare of
the sun. Wingle turned and, with a glance at the shrouded figure on
the bunk-house floor, donned his apron and shuffled to the kitchen.
Corliss tied his horse and strode to the office.

Hi Wingle puttered about the kitchen. There would be supper to get for
fifteen hungry--No! fourteen, to-night. He paused, set down the pan
that he held and opened the door of the chuck-room. With finger
marking the count he totaled the number of chairs at the table.
Fifteen. Then he stepped softly to the bunk-room, took Sinker's hat
and stepped back to the table. He placed the hat on the dead cowboy's
chair. Then he closed the door and turned to the preparation of the
evening meal. "Jack'll report to Antelope and try and keep the boys
quiet. I'm sure with Jack--only I was a puncher first afore I took to
cookin'. And I'm a puncher yet--inside." Which was his singular and
only spoken tribute to the memory of Sinker. He had reasoned that it
was only right and fitting that the slayer of a cowman should be slain
by a cowman--a code that held good in his time and would hold good
now--especially when the boys saw the battered Stetson, every line of
which was mutely eloquent of its owner's individuality.

Sundown drifted through the afternoon solitudes, his mind dulled by the
monotony of the theme which obsessed him. It was evening when he
reached the water-hole. Around the enclosure straggled a few stray
sheep. He cautioned Chance against molesting them. Ordinarily he
would have approached the ranch-house timidly, but he was beyond fear.
He rode to the gate, tied his horse, and stepped to the doorway. The
door was open. He entered and struck a match. In the dusk he saw that
the room was empty save for a tarpaulin and a pair of rawhide kyacks