aimlessly along the edge of the mesa.
They separated as the rider swept up. One terror-stricken lamb,
bleating piteously, hesitated on the very edge of the chasm. Fadeaway
swung his hat and laughed as the little creature reared and leaped out
into space. There had been but little noise--an occasional frightened
bleat, a drumming of hoofs on the mesa, and they were swept from sight.

Fadeaway reined around and took a direct line for the nearest timber.
Halfway across the open he saw the Mexican boy running toward him. He
leaned forward in the saddle and hung his spurs in his pony's sides. A
quick beat of hoofs and he was within the shadow of the forest. The
next thing was to avoid pursuit. He changed his course and rode toward
the heart of the forest. He would take an old and untraveled
bridle-trail to the Blue. He was riding in a rocky hollow when he
thought he heard the creak of saddle-leather. He glanced back. No one
was following him. Farther on he stopped. He was certain that he had
again heard the sound. As he topped the rise he saw Corliss riding
toward him. The rancher had evidently swung from the Concho trail and
was making his way directly toward the unused trail which Fadeaway
rode. The cowboy became doubly alert. He shifted a little in the
saddle, sitting straight, his right hand resting easily on his hip.
Corliss drew rein and they faced each other. There was something about
the rancher's grim, silent attitude that warned Fadeaway.

Yet he grinned and waved a greeting. "How!" he said, as though he were
meeting an old friend.

Corliss nodded briefly. He sat gazing at Fadeaway with an unreadable
expression.

"Got the lock-jaw?" queried Fadeaway, his pretended heartiness
vanishing.

Corliss allowed himself to smile, a very little. "You better ride back
with me," he said, quietly.

Fadeaway laughed. "I'm takin' orders from the Blue, these days," he
said. "Mebby you forgot."

"No, I haven't."

"And I'm headed for the Blue," continued the cowboy. "Goin' my way?"

"You're on the wrong trail," asserted Corliss. "You've been riding the
wrong trail ever since you left the Concho."

"Uhuh. Well, I been keepin' clear of the sheep camps, at that."

"Don't know about that," said Corliss, easily.

Fadeaway was too shrewd to have recourse to his gun. He knew that
Corliss was the quicker man, and he realized that, even should he get
the better of a six-gun argument, the ultimate res