her we need the doctor?"

Swan drew back. "I can't," he said shortly. "Better you send to Echo for
telegraph. And if you have medicine, it should be on his head quick."

Lone was standing with his fingers pressed on Frank's wrist. He looked
up, hesitated, drew out his knife and opened the small blade. He moved
so that his back was to Lorraine, and still holding the wrist he made a
small, clean cut in the flesh. The three others stooped, stared with
tightened lips at the bloodless incision, straightened and looked at one
another dumbly.

"I'd like to lie to you," Lone told Lorraine, speaking over his
shoulder. "But I won't. You're too game and too square. Go and stay with
your dad, but don't let him know--get him to sleep. We don't need that
medicine, nor a doctor either. Frank's dead. I reckon he was dead when
he hit the ground."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SWAN TRAILS A COYOTE

At daybreak Swan was striding toward the place where Frank Johnson had
been found. Lone, his face moody, his eyes clouded with thought, rode
beside him, while Jack trotted loose-jointedly at Swan's heels. Swan had
his rifle, and Lone's six-shooter showed now and then under his coat
when the wind flipped back a corner. Neither had spoken since they left
the ranch, where Jim was wandering dismally here and there, trying to do
the chores when his heart was heavy with a sense of personal loss and
grim foreboding. None save Brit had slept during the night--and Brit had
slept only because Lorraine had prudently given him a full dose of the
sedative left by the doctor for that very purpose. Sorry had gone to
Echo to send a telegram to the coroner, and he was likely to return now
at any time. Wherefore Swan and Lone were going to look over the ground
before others had trampled out what evidence there might be in the
shape of footprints.

They reached the spot where the team had stopped of its own accord in
crossing a little, green meadow, and had gone to feeding. Lone pulled up
and half turned in the saddle, looking at Swan questioningly.

"Is that dog of yours any good at trailing?" he asked abruptly. "I've
got a theory that somebody was in that wagon with Frank, and drove on a
ways before he jumped out. I believe if you'd put that dog on the
trail----"

"If I put that dog on the trail he stays on the trail all day, maybe,"
Swan averred with some pride. "By golly, he follows a coyote till he
drops."

"Well, it's a coyote we're after now,"