such as the herders use. Examining the kyacks he found that they
contained flour, beans, salt, sugar, and coffee. Evidently the herders
had intended making the deserted ranch-house their headquarters. He
wondered vaguely where the Mexicans were. The thought that they might
return did not worry him. He knew what he would do in that instance.
He would find out which one was 'Sandro . . . and then . . .

The bleating of the stray sheep annoyed him. He told Chance to stay in
the room. Then he stalked out and opened the gate. "Mebby they want
water. I dunno. Them's Loring's sheep, all right, but they ain't to
blame for--for Sinker." With the idea came a more reasonable mood.
The sheep were not to blame for the killing of Sinker. The sheep
belonged to Loring. The herders, also, practically belonged to Loring.
They were only following his bidding when they protected the sheep.
With such reasoning he finally concluded that Loring, not his herder,
was responsible for the cowboy's death. He returned to the house,
built a fire, and cooked an indifferent meal.

Sundown sat up suddenly. In the dim light of the moon flickering
through the dusty panes he saw Chance standing close to the door with
neck bristling and head lowered. Throwing back his blanket he rose and
whispered to the dog. Chance came to him obediently. Sundown saw that
the dog was trembling. He motioned him back and stepped to the door.
His slumbers had served to restore him to himself in a measure. His
old timidity became manifest as he hesitated, listening. In the
absolute silence of the night he thought he heard a shuffling as of
something being dragged across the enclosure. Tense with anticipating
he knew not what, he listened. Again he heard that peculiar slithering
sound. He opened the door an inch and peered out. In the pallid glow
of the moon he beheld a shapeless object that seemed to be crawling
toward him. Something in the helpless attitude of the object suggested
Sinker as he had risen on his arm, endeavoring to tell of the disaster
which had overtaken him. With a gesture of scorn at his own fear he
swung open the door. Chance crept at his heels, whining. Then Sundown
stepped out and stood gazing at the strange figure on the ground. Not
until a groan of agony broke the utter silence did he realize that the
night had brought to him a man, wounded and suffering terribly. "Who
are you?" he questioned, stooping above the man.