too, Mr. Ashton. They are more apt to
strike without warning, this time of year."

"I know," remarked Ashton. "It's before they cast their old skin, and
it makes them blind."

"Too early for that," corrected Knowles. "I figure it's the long spell
of the summer's heat. Gets on their nerves, same as with us."

"They shore are mighty like some humans," observed Gowan. "Look at the
way they like to snuggle up in your blankets on a cool night.
Remember how I used to carry a hair rope on spring round-up?"

"I remember that they used to crawl into the bunkhouse before the
floor was laid," said Isobel. She smiled at Ashton. "That was the Dry
Mesa reptilian age. I first learned to handle a 'gun' shooting at
rattlers. There were so many we had to make it a rule to kill everyone
we could. But there hasn't been one killed so near the house for
years."

"They often go in pairs. This one, though, may have been a lone
stray," added Gowan. He looked at his employer. "Talking about strays,
guess I'd best go out in the morning and head back that Bar-Lazy-J
bunch. I can take an iron along and brand those two calves, same
trip."

Knowles nodded and returned to his Government report. The two young
men and Isobel began an evening's entertainment at the piano. Ashton
enjoyed himself immensely. Though so frank and unconstrained in
manner, the girl was as truly refined as the most fastidiously reared
ladies of the East.

At the end of the delightful evening he withdrew with Gowan to the
bunkhouse, reluctant to leave, yet aglow with pleasure. Isobel had so
charmed him that he lay in his bunk forgetful of all else than her
limpid blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. But after his two nights of
broken rest he could not long resist the heaviness that pressed
together his eyelids. He fell asleep, smiling at the recollection of
the girl's gracious, "Good-night and pleasant dreams!"

With such a kindly wish from her, his dreams certainly should have
been heavenly. Yet he began the night by sinking into so profound a
sleep that he had no dreams whatever. When at last he did rouse to the
dream-state of consciousness, it was not to enjoy any pleasant fantasy
of music and flowers.

He was lying in Deep Canyon, down at the very bottom of those gloomy
depths. About him was an awful stillness. The river of the abyss was
no longer roaring. It had risen up, up, up to the very rim of the
precipices--and all the tremendous weight of its waters was above hi