llapsed canvas and lit it. Mormon
and Sam took the senseless man down to the creek where they attempted to
revive him by pouring hatfuls of the icy water on his head. He was a
black-haired chap, sallow of face, clean-shaven. His clothes were those
of a cowman.

"Looks a heap like a drowned rat," said Mormon. "It's Sol Wyatt, one of
Plim's riders oveh to his hawss ranch. He got fired from the
Two-Bar-Circle fo' leavin' his ridin' iron to home an' usin' anotheh
brand. Leastwise, that's what they suspected. Old Man Penny giv' him the
benefit of the doubt an' jest kicked him out of the corral. If he'd had
the goods on him he'd have skinned him alive an' put his pelt on the
bahn do' fo' a warnin'."

"The damn fool rode a single-fire saddle fo' a job like that," said Sam.
"No wonder it bu'sted. He's sniffin', Sandy; what we goin' to do with
him?"

"Take him up inter camp, soon's he's able to walk an' hand him over to
Plimsoll with our compliments. They figgered they'd make us all look
plumb ridiculous with bein' flipped out of the tent. Then they'd have
had the crowd on their side erlong with the la'f, way it usually goes.
Don't drown him, Mormon, he don't look oveh used to water, to me."

Wyatt opened a pair of shifty black eyes to consciousness and the light
of the lantern and immediately closed them again, playing opossum. Sam
prodded him gently in the ribs.

"Wake up, Sol," he said. "Come back to earth, you sky-salutin'
circus-rider. You sure looped the loops 'fore you lit. Serves you right
fo' usin' a one-cinch saddle. Git up!"

Wyatt gasped and sat up, grinning foolishly.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothin'," answered Sandy. "Jest nothin'. Who was your buckaroo friend
on the otheh end of the rope?"

"I dunno. Never saw him before to-night."

"Pal of Jim Plimsoll?"

"I dunno. Nobuddy I know. Nobuddy you know, I reckon."

"I'll know him likely next time I run across him," said Sandy. "He's
packin' a saddle brand I put on him." His voice was grimly humorous, he
recognized Wyatt's obstinacy as something not without merit. "How's yore
haid?"

"Some tender."

"It ain't in first-rate condition or you w'udn't be drawin' pay from
Plimsoll. Yore saddle's here, yore hawss went west. Ef you want to leave
the saddle till you locate the hawss, you can git it 'thout any trouble
any time you come fo' it. Or you can pack it with you now. We're goin'
up to camp."

"Figger it's safe to leave yore claims now?" asked