ks for the night did Chico and Grande, the little
and big terrors of the sheep, give way from their strenuous labors.

It was two hours after dark when they rode wearily into the camp at
Carrizo Creek. The fire was dying down to embers and the _rodeo_
outfit, worn out, had turned in, some in the tin house, others
outside, under the brush _ramada_ to escape the dew. No one moved as
they approached but Creede did not scruple to wake up Jim Clark in
order to learn the news.

"How'd the old horn work?" he inquired cheerily.

"No good," grunted Clark, rolling over.

"Aw, go on, wouldn't they chase ye?"

"Nope. Nothin' doin'. Say, lemme sleep, will ye?"

"Sure," said Creede, "when I git through with you. Which way was them
sheep travellin'?"

"Well, some was goin' straight up over the Four Peaks and the rest was
p'intin' west. You and your old horn--I nigh blowed my fool head off
and never got a rise! They was all blowin' them horns over by the
Pocket this aft."

"Um," said Creede, "they was _all_ blowin', hey? And what else was
they doin'?"

"Shootin', fer further orders, and driftin' their sheep. They's about
a hundred thousand, right over the hill."

"Huh!" grunted Creede, turning to his belated dinner, "what d'ye make
of that, Rufe?"

"Nothing," replied Hardy, "except more work."

It seemed as if he had hardly fallen asleep when Creede was up again,
hurling the wood on the fire.

"Pile out, fellers!" he shouted. "You can sleep all day bimebye. Come
on, Rufe--d'ye want to find them sheep in the corral when you go back
to Hidden Water?" And so with relentless energy he roused them up,
divided out the work, and was off again for Bronco Mesa.

It was early when they arrived at the first deserted sheep camp, but
search as they would they could see no signs of the sheep. The puny
fire over which the herders had fried their bread and mutton was
wind-blown and cold, the burros and camp rustlers were gone, and there
was no guiding dust cloud against the sky. From the little butte where
Creede and Hardy stood the lower mesa stretched away before them like
a rocky, cactus-covered plain, the countless ravines and gulches
hidden by the dead level of the benches, and all empty, lifeless,
void. They rode for the second camp, farther to the west, and it too
was deserted, the sheep tracks cunningly milled in order to hide the
trail.

"They're gittin' foxy," commented Creede, circling wide to catch the
trend of their d