t be his fault.
He had determined on a bloodless but effective victory, wherein soda
and cream-of-tartar should be the victors.

Soda and cream-of-tartar in proper proportions is harmless. But double
the proportion of cream-of-tartar and the result is internal riot.
"And a leetle spice to kill the bitter of the taste ought to work all
right," he soliloquized. Then he remembered Chance. Loring had left
to oversee the establishment of an outlying camp. The Mexican who
assisted Sundown seemed stupid and sullen. Sundown found excuse to
enter his bedroom, where he hastily scrawled a note to Corliss. Later
he tied the note to the inside of the dog's collar. The next thing was
to get Chance started on the road to the Concho. He rolled down his
sleeves and strolled to the doorway. A Mexican sat smoking and
watching the road. Sundown stepped past him and began to tinker with
the gas-engine. Chance stood watching him. Presently the gas-engine
started with a cough and splutter. Sundown walked to the door and
seemed about to enter when the Mexican called to him and pointed toward
the distant tank. Water was pouring over its rim. "Gee Gosh!"
exclaimed Sundown. "I got to shut her off." He ran to the engine and
its sound ceased. Yet the water still poured from the rim of the tank.
"Got to fix that!" he asserted, and started toward the tank. The
Mexican followed him to the fence.

"You come back?" he queried significantly.

"Sure thing! I ain't got a hoss, have I?"

The Mexican nodded. Sundown crawled through the fence and strode
slowly to the tank. He pretended to examine it first in view of the
house and finally on the opposite side. As Chance sniffed along the
bottom of the tank, Sundown spoke to him. The dog's ears pricked
forward. Sundown's tone suggested action. "Here, Chance,--you fan it
for the Concho--Jack--the boss. Beat it for all you're worth. The
Concho! Sabe?" And he patted the dog's head and pointed toward the
south.

Chance hesitated, leaping up and whining.

"That's all right, pardner. They ain't nothin' goin' to happen to me.
You go!"

Chance trotted off a few yards and then turned his head inquiringly.

"That's right. Keep a-goin'. It's your stunt this time." And Sundown
waved his arm.

The return of Sundown without the dog occasioned no suspicion on the
Mexican's part. He most naturally thought, if he considered the fact
at all, that the dog was hunting the mesas. Then