ned facing Lone. "Last night my
dog Yack whines to go out. He went and sat in a place where he looks
down on the walley, and he howled for half an hour. I said then that
somebody in the walley has died. That dog is something queer about it.
He knows things."

"I'm going to the Sawtooth," Lone told him. "I can telephone to the
coroner from there. Anybody at Thurman's place, do you know?"

Swan shook his head and started again down the winding, steep trail.
"I don't hunt over that way for maybe a week. That's too bad he's
killed. I like Fred Thurman. He's a fine man, you bet."

"He was," said Lone soberly. "It's a damn shame he had to go--like
that."

Swan glanced back at him, studied Lone's face for an instant and turned
into a tributary gully where a stream trickled down over the water-worn
rocks. "Here I leave you," he volunteered, as Lone came abreast of
him. "A coyote's crossed up there, and I maybe find his tracks. I
could go do chores for Fred Thurman if nobody's there. Should I do
that? What you say, Lone?"

"You might drift around by there if it ain't too much out of your way,
and see if he's got a man on the ranch," Lone suggested. "But you
better not touch anything in the house, Swan. The coroner'll likely
appoint somebody to look around and see if he's got any folks to send
his stuff to. Just feed any stock that's kept up, if nobody's there."

"All right," Swan agreed readily. "I'll do that, Lone. Good-bye."

Lone nodded and watched him climb the steep slope of the gulch on the
side toward Thurman's ranch. Swan climbed swiftly, seeming to take no
thought of where he put his feet, yet never once slipping or slowing.
In two minutes he was out of sight, and Lone rode on moodily, trying
not to think of Fred Thurman, trying to shut from his mind the things
that wild-eyed, hoarse-voiced girl had told him.

"Lone, you mind your own business," he advised himself once. "You
don't know anything that's going to do any one any good, and what you
don't know there's no good guessing. But that girl--she mustn't talk
like that!"

Of Swan he scarcely gave a thought after the Swede had disappeared, yet
Swan was worth a thought or two, even from a man who was bent on
minding his own business. Swan had no sooner climbed the gulch toward
Thurman's claim than he proceeded to descend rather carefully to the
bottom again, walk along on the rocks for some distance and climb to
the ridge whose farther