ate than if
the night had been clear. Then he would have made his fire, boiled
coffee, spread his bed, and gone to sleep beneath the stars; but
because of the ominous storm cloud he constructed a lean-to by driving
two forked stakes and joining them with a crosspiece. From these he
slanted two poles to the ground, and on the poles laid a tarp, lashing
it in place. The mouth of the lean-to faced away from the cloud bank.
In addition it had the partial shelter of cottonwoods in full leaf. In
this lean-to be collected his outfit. Next he made a fire and cooked
supper. Afterward he smoked, squatting in the mouth of his shelter,
staring silently at the dying embers, listening to the rising wind
sighing above him sweeping across the bare grasslands, but scarcely
fanning the coals in his protected camp.

He felt no loneliness whatever. Solitary camps and the love of them
were his by right of inheritance. He neither required nor desired
companionship. Fire, food, tobacco, and solitude satisfied his inmost
soul. This was the life he loved. The fact that he was a fugitive from
the law did not trouble him at all; it merely gave an added zest to the
situation. Just once he chuckled grimly as he recalled the faces of
Glass and Pugh when he had whirled on them, gun in hand. Glass had
interpreted his intentions very correctly; he would have shot either or
both on the slightest provocation. He was of the breed of the wolf,
accustomed from childhood to deadly weapons, brought up in tradition of
their use, and, like many outlaws who have bulked large in the history
of the West, young enough to act on impulse without counting the
ultimate cost.

As his little fire burned down he stepped out and regarded the darkened
heavens. A heavy drop of rain struck his face and a flash of lightning
ripped the black curtain, outlining bare banks, trees, and grazing
horses for a brief instant. Sandy shrugged his shoulders
philosophically. His shelter was good enough. He unrolled his bed, and,
by the simple process of removing moccasins and gun belt, was ready to
retire. He got into his blankets, taking his gun with him, and rolled
them around him, leaving his face exposed until the last.

"Now, darn you rain!" he muttered. With which "now-I-lay-me" he drew
the blanket completely over his head as a protection against
mosquitoes, and, heedless of the smothering effect of it, which would
have been unsupportable to a city youth, was asleep in ten seconds