from the shock and a little loss of blood. I'll get you a drink from
my can, and then tote you into camp. You'll be all right in a day or
two."

He fetched the can of water from his bag, which he had dropped beside
the level. Ashton drank with the thirstiness of one who has lost
blood. When at last his thirst was quenched, he glanced up at Blake
with a look of half reluctant apology.

"I said something about your striking me," he murmured. "I did not
understand--did not realize I had been shot. You see, just before--"

"That's all right," broke in Blake. "I owe you a bigger apology. Last
evening, while you were out hunting, someone took a shot at me. It
must have been this same sneaking skunk. I thought it was you."

"You thought I could try to--to shoot you?" muttered Ashton.

"Yes. There's the old matter of the bridge, and you seem to think I am
responsible for what your father has done. But after you came in, I
soon concluded that you had fired towards the camp unintentionally."

"If you had asked," explained Ashton, "I was around at the far end of
these hills, nearly two miles from the camp, when I shot at the wolf
and the rifle went wrong."

"That was a fortunate occurrence--your going out and seeing the wolf;"
said Blake. "If you hadn't taken that shot, we would not have known
your rifle was out of gear. My first bullet merely made the sneak rise
up to pot me. If the rapidity of the next three shots hadn't rattled
him, I believe he would have potted me, instead of running."

"So that was it?" exclaimed Ashton. "Do you know, I believe it must be
the same scoundrel who attacked me the first day I rode down Dry
Fork. No doubt he remembered how I ripped loose at him with the
automatic-catch set."

"Your thieving guide?" said Blake. "But why should he try to kill
me?"

"I'm sure I don't know," murmured Ashton. "Another drink, please."

"I shall tote you back to camp, and--No, I'll lay you over there in
the shade and go up to see if he is in sight."

Picking up the wounded man as easily as if he had been a child, the
engineer carried him over under a tree, fetched him the can of water,
and for the second time climbed the rocky hillside. Scaling his
lookout crag, he surveyed the country below him. A mile down the creek
two riders were coming up towards the waterhole at an easy canter. He
surmised that they were his wife and Miss Knowles.

Their approach brought a shade of anxiety into his strong face. He