n to them, though he believed Fred
suspected it.

Turning his back, therefore, upon the dearest spot in all the West
to him, he set his mare Queenie on an easy, swift gallop, heading
southward toward the ranges where the cattle of the Whitneys were
grazing.

Sterry, in one sense, was without a home as long as he remained
in Wyoming or Montana, while in another sense he was the owner of
numberless dwelling-places or "headquarters." He may be likened to a
commercial traveller in a vast and sparsely-settled region, where he
is well known and welcomed by the inhabitants.

The ranchmen who knew him--and there were few who did not--were his
friends, for he was working in their interests. At whichever cabin he
drew rein he was certain of a hospitable reception.

With no clearly defined idea of where he would spend the remaining
hours of the night, he turned the nose of Queenie toward the ranges,
among the mountain spurs.

Grizzly Weber and Budd Hankinson would stay near the cattle for an
indefinite time, and he was debating whether to join them or to ride
on to the ranch of Dick Hawkridge, a number of miles to the northeast,
when his meditations were broken in upon in the most startling manner.

During those perilous times, the lonely horseman, in a dangerous
region, relies much on his intelligent steed for warning. While
Monteith Sterry could do a great deal of thinking in the saddle,
he was too alert to drop into a brown study that would divert his
thoughts from his surroundings.

He was no more than a mile from the Whitney ranch when his mare
pricked up her ears, gave an almost inaudible whinny, and slightly
slackened her pace.

That meant that she scented danger, and her rider was on the _qui
vive_.

He tightened the rein and drew her to a full stop. She turned her head
to the right and looked steadily in that direction, with her pretty
ears thrown forward. This meant that whatever impended was coming from
that point of the compass.

But the keen eyes of Mont Sterry could not penetrate the moonlight
sufficiently far to detect anything. He was out of the saddle in a
twinkling, and tried a trick learned from the old hunters. He pressed
one ear against the ground, which, as all know, is a much better
conductor of sound than the air.

This told the story he anticipated. The faint but distinct clamping of
horses' hoofs was heard. The number was indefinite, but, somewhat to
his surprise, none of them was running