the ranch. You can look for me back at sunup. The moon rises
between three and four."

"Genevieve, will you make out the list? Sit down and eat, Kid."

"Well, just a snack, Miss Chuckie. Wouldn't stop for that if the
hawsses didn't know the trail well enough to go down in the dark."

"Have you seen any sign of the murderer?" inquired Ashton.

Gowan drained the cup of scalding hot coffee handed to him by Isobel,
and answered jeeringly: "Don't worry, Tenderfoot. He won't try to get
you tonight. If he came back today, he saw me around. If he comes back
tonight, he won't think of climbing High Mesa to look for you."

Blake came to the puncher with a list written by himself and his wife
on a leaf from his fieldbook. Gowan folded it in his hatband, washed
down the last mouthful of bread and ham that he had been bolting, and
went to shift his saddle to Isobel's pony, the youngest and freshest
of the horses. In two minutes he was riding away down the ridge,
willingly followed by the four other horses. They knew as well as he
that they were returning to the waterhole.

As the campers again sat down to their supper Isobel paused with the
coffeepot upraised. "Genevieve," she inquired, "did you put cream on
the list?"

"Why, no, my dear. It did not occur to me."

"Nor may it to Yuki. He will be sure to send eggs and butter, but
unless he thinks to save tonight's cream--I'll run and tell Kid."

Ashton sprang up ahead of her. "I'll catch him," he said, and sprinted
down the ridge.

Racing around a thicket of scrub oak, he caught sight of Gowan more
than an eighth of a mile ahead. He whistled repeatedly. At last Gowan
twisted about in the saddle, and drew rein. He did not turn back, but
made Ashton come all the way to him.

"Well, what's wanted?" he demanded.

"Cream," panted Ashton. "Miss Chuckie says--tell Yuki."

"Shore pop, I'll bring all there is," replied Gowan. Ashton started
back. "Hold on," said the puncher. "I want to say something to you,
and here's the chance."

"What is it?"

"About him. I want you to keep a mighty close watch tonight."

"But you said that the murderer would not--"

"_Bah!_ What does he count in this deal? It's this engineer. I've been
chewing it over all afternoon. Miss Chuckie is as innocent and
trusting as a lamb, spite of her winterings in Denver, and she's
plumb locoed over him, reading so much about him in the reports."

"Still, it does not necessarily follow--"

"Don't it,