Sawtooth meant to do about the Swede, but so far the
Sawtooth seemed inclined to do nothing at all, evidently thinking his
war on animal pests more than atoned for his effrontery in taking
Skyline as a homestead. When he had proven up on his claim they would
probably buy him out and have the water still.

"Well, what do you know?" Swan turned his head to inquire abruptly.
"You're pretty quiet."

Lone roused himself. "Fred Thurman's been dragged to death by that
damned flighty horse of his," he said. "I found him in the brush this
side of Granite Creek. Had his foot caught in the stirrup. I thought I'd
best leave him there till the coroner can view him."

Swan stopped short in the trail and turned facing Lone. "Last night my
dog Yack whines to go out. He went and sat in a place where he looks
down on the walley, and he howled for half an hour. I said then that
somebody in the walley has died. That dog is something queer about it.
He knows things."

"I'm going to the Sawtooth," Lone told him. "I can telephone to the
coroner from there. Anybody at Thurman's place, do you know?"

Swan shook his head and started again down the winding, steep trail. "I
don't hunt over that way for maybe a week. That's too bad he's killed. I
like Fred Thurman. He's a fine man, you bet."

"He was," said Lone soberly. "It's a damn shame he had to go--like
that."

Swan glanced back at him, studied Lone's face for an instant and turned
into a tributary gully where a stream trickled down over water-worn
rocks. "Here I leave you," he volunteered, as Lone came abreast of him.
"A coyote's crossed up there, and I maybe find his tracks. I could go do
chores for Fred Thurman if nobody's there. Should I do that? What you
say, Lone?"

"You might drift around by there if it ain't too much out of your way,
and see if he's got a man on the ranch," Lone suggested. "But you better
not touch anything in the house, Swan. The coroner'll likely appoint
somebody to look around and see if he's got any folks to send his stuff
to. Just feed any stock that's kept up, if nobody's there."

"All right," Swan agreed readily. "I'll do that, Lone. Good-by."

Lone nodded and watched him climb the steep slope of the gulch on the
side toward Thurman's ranch. Swan climbed swiftly, seeming to take no
thought of where he put his feet, yet never once slipping or slowing. In
two minutes he was out of sight, and Lone rode on moodily, trying not
to think of Fred Thurman, t