on his legs, eased by the plastering. They were only tired now.

He shook himself vigorously, sending out the dust with which he was
powdered in all directions, making Mormon sneeze. He stretched his
muzzle toward the mountains, threw it up and barked for the first time.
As Sandy and Sam mounted, the latter leading the gray mare, Grit ran
ahead of them and came back to make certain they were following. Then he
headed for the spot in the mesquite whence he had emerged, marking the
opening of a narrow trail. The horses broke into a lope, the two men,
the three mounts, and the dog, off on their errand of mercy.

Mormon watched them well into the mesquite before he put back the hair
in the water the dog had left and went on with his plaiting: As he
handled the pliant horsehairs he talked aloud, range fashion.

"On'y sheepman I ever knowed worth trubblin' about was a woman. Used ter
knit while she watched the woollies. Knit me a sweater--plumb useless
waste of time an' yarn. If I'd taken it I'd have had to take her along
with it. Wimmen is sure persistent. Seems like I must look like a dogie
to most of 'em. They're allus wantin' to marry me an' mother me. I sure
hope this one don't turn out to be a she-herder. 'P' might stand fer
Polly."

CHAPTER II

CASEY

The two men followed the dog across the flats, through mesquite, through
scattered sage and greasewood, mounting gradually through chaparral to
barren slopes set with strange twisted shapes of cactus. When it became
apparent that Sandy's hazard had hit the mark, as they entered the
defile that made entrance for Pyramid Pass, the only path across the
Cumbre Range to the Bad Lands beyond, Sandy reined in, coaxed up Grit,
resentful, almost suspicious of any halt, lifting the collie to the
saddle in front of him. Grit protested and the pinto plunged, but
Sandy's persistence, the soothe of his steady voice, persuaded the dog
at last to accommodate itself as best it could, helped by Sandy's one
arm, sometimes with two as Sandy, riding with knees welded to Pronto's
withers, dropping reins over the saddle horn, left the rest to the
horse.

"I figger we got some distance yet," he said to Sam. "Dawg was goin'
steady as a woodchuck ten mile' from water. Reckon my guess was
right,--he wore his pads out crossin' the lava beds, though what in time
any hombre who ain't plumb loco is trapesin' round there for, beats me.
There is some grazin' on top of the Cumbre mesa, en