any reason in the wide world why Carr
should not this time send Barbee and himself ride on wherever it suited
him to go? At that moment Howard would have been glad than otherwise
to have Jim Courtot present himself.

'Let him start something, damn him,' he growled savagely to himself,
'any time.' And he began wondering if now John Carr were sitting with
Helen and her father in front of their little home? Or if perhaps
Longstreet had gone in to his books, and Carr and Helen alone, sitting
quiet under the spell of the night, were looking out into the shining
world of stars? He cursed himself for a fool and an ingrate. Didn't
Carr have a man's right to ride where he chose? And had he not already
twice in twenty-four hours shown how clearly his thought and his heart
were with his friend? A revolver knocked at Howard's side. It was
there because John Carr had shown him its need.

Howard's impulse was to stay away from Last Ridge for a little longer.
He reasoned that Carr would be invited to stay overnight and would
naturally accept the invitation. Why should he not? There is always
room in camp for one more, and no doubt both Helen and her father would
be glad of company to break their monotony and loneliness. But before
Howard had had time for more than an impulse there came the second
episode of the night to set him thinking upon other matters.

As he rode he heard several voices and recognized them as those of his
own men. One guffawed loudly and there came the sound of his big hand
slapping his leg in his high delight; another swore roundly and
impatiently; a third was talking excitedly, earnestly. This third was
Sandy Weaver, an old hand, a little man characterized by his gentle
eyes and soft voice and known across many miles as an individual in
whom the truth did not abide. All up and down these fringes of the
desert he was known simply as Lying Sandy.

'What's the excitement, boys?' demanded Howard.

Sandy wheeled his horse, pressing close to his employer's side, and
burst into quick explanation. He had been working with Dave Terril
over on the east side; they had found only a handful of stock there,
and Sandy had left them to Dave, and in order to save time for the
morrow had circled the valley and combed over the north end, under the
Last Ridge cliffs. Just before dark he had made his discovery. His
horse had found it first, shying and sniffing and then trying to bolt;
Sandy was nothing if not