t he slept out under the stars rolled in his
heavy blanket, and he never crossed a ridge if he could make his way
through a hollow. It is not always cowardice which makes a man
extremely careful not to fall into the hands of his enemy. There is a
small matter of pride involved. Ward would have died almost any death
rather than give Buck Olney the satisfaction of "getting" him. For a
few days he was cautious as an Indian on the war trail, and then his
patience frazzled out under the strain.

At sunrise one morning, after a night of shivering in his blanket, he
hunched his shoulders in disgust of his caution. If Buck Olney wanted
anything of him, he was certainly taking his time about coming after
it. Ward rubbed his fingers over his stubbly jaw, and the
uncomfortable prickling was the last small detail of discomfort that
decided him. He was going to have a shave and a decent cup of coffee
and eat off his own table, or know the reason why, he promised himself
while he slapped the saddle on Rattler.

He was camped in a sheltered little hollow in the hills, where the
grass was good and there was a spring. It was a mile and more to his
claim, straight across the upland, and it was his habit to leave
Rattler there and walk over to the ridge, where he could watch his
claim; frequently, as I have said, he stole down before daylight and
lighted a fire in the stove, just to make it look as if he lived there.
There was a risk in that, of course, granting that the stock inspector
was the kind to lie in wait for him.

Ward rode to the ridge, with his blanket rolled and tied behind the
cantle. His frying-pan hung behind his leg, and his rifle lay across
the saddle in front of him. He was going home boldly enough and
recklessly enough, but he was by no means disposed to walk deliberately
into a trap. He kept his eye peeled, as he would have expressed it.
Also, he left Rattler just under the crest of the ridge, took off his
spurs, and with his rifle in his hands went forward afoot, as he had
done every time he had approached his cabin since the day he found the
corral and the cattle in the canyon.

In this wise he looked down the steep slope with the sun throwing the
shadow of his head and shoulders before him. The cabin window blinked
cheerfully in the sunlight. His span of mares were coming up from the
meadow--in the faint hope of getting a breakfast of oats, perhaps. The
place looked peaceful enough and cozily desi