t must 'a'
been Steve that drilled the ole man because Steve was the only puncher
who knowed where the window was and fired into it.'"

"I didn't know that. So you aim to even up, eh?"

"Nope. I jest aim to be ready to even up."

Bailey strode back to his horse. "I'm goin' up in the hills and look
for a deer. Want to take a little pasear with me?"

"Suits me, Jim."

"Come on, then."

They mounted and rode side by side across the noon mesa.

The ponies stepped briskly. The air was like a song. Far away the
blue hills invited exploration of their timbered and mysterious
silences.

"Makes a fella feel like forgettin' everything and everybody--but jest
this," said Pete, gesturing toward the ranges.

"The bucks'll be on the ridges," remarked Bailey.

CHAPTER XIII

GAME

They got their buck--a big six-point--just before the sun dipped below
the flaming sky-line. In order to pack the meat in, one or the other
would have to walk. Pete volunteered, but Bailey generously offered to
toss up for the privilege of riding. He flipped a coin and won.
"Suits me," said Pete, grinning. "It's worth walkin' from here to the
ranch jest to see you rope that deer on my hoss. I reckon you'll
sweat."

It took about all of the foreman's skill and strength, assisted by
Pete, to rope the deer on the pony, who had never packed game and who
never intended to if he could help it. And it was a nervous horse that
Pete led down the long woodland trail as the shadows grew distorted and
grim in the swiftly fading light Long before they reached the mesa
level it was dark. The trail was carpeted with needles of the pine and
their going was silent save for the creak of the saddles and the
occasional click of a hoof against an uncovered rock. Pete's horse
seemed even more nervous as they made the last descent before striking
the mesa. "Somethin' besides deer is bother'n' him," said Pete as they
worked cautiously down a steep switchback. The horse had stopped and
was trembling. Bailey glanced back. "Up there!" he whispered,
gesturing to the trail above them. Pete had also been looking round,
and before Bailey could speak again, a sliver of flame split the
darkness and the roar of Pete's six-gun shattered the eerie silence of
the hillside. Bailey's horse plunged off the trail and rocketed
straight down the mountain. Pete's horse, rearing from the hurtling
shape that lunged from the trail above, tore the rope from his