ult would be outlawry
and perhaps death. He wanted to get away from that steady,
heart-searching gaze that held him.

"Sheep business is lookin' up," he said, with an attempt at jocularity.

"We'll ride back and have a talk with Loring," said Corliss. "Some one
put a band of his sheep into the canon, not two hours ago. Maybe you
know something about it."

"Me? What you dreaming anyhow?"

"I'm not. It looks like your work."

"So you're tryin' to hang somethin' onto me, eh? Well, you want to
call around early--you're late."

"No, I'm the first one on the job. Did you stampede Loring's sheep?"

"Did I stampede the love-makin'?" sneered Fadeaway.

Corliss shortened rein and drew close to the cowboy.

"Just explain that," he said.

"Oh, I don' know. You the boss of creation?"

Corliss's lips hardened. He let his quirt slip butt-first through his
hand and grasped the lash. Fadeaway's hand slipped to his holster.
Before he could pull his gun, Corliss swung the quirt. The blow caught
Fadeaway just below the brim of his hat. He wavered and grabbed at the
saddle-horn. As Corliss again swung his quirt, the cowboy jerked out
his gun and brought it down on the rancher's head. Corliss dropped
from the saddle. Fadeaway rode around and covered him. Corliss's hat
lay a few feet from where he had fallen. Beneath his head a dark ooze
spread a hand's-breadth on the trail. The cowboy dismounted and bent
over him. "He's sportin' a dam' good hat," he said, "or that would 'a'
fixed _him_. Guess he'll be good for a spell." Then he reached for
his stirrup, mounted, and loped up the trail.

Old Fernando, having excused himself on some pretext when Corliss rode
into the camp that morning, returned to find Corliss gone and Nell
Loring strangely grave and white. She nodded as he spoke to her and
pointed toward the mesa. "Carlos--is out--looking for the sheep," she
said, her lips trembling. "He says some one stampeded them--run them
into the canon."

Fernando called upon his saints and cursed himself for his negligence
in leaving his son with the sheep. Nell Loring spoke to him quietly,
assuring him that she understood why he had absented himself. "It's my
fault, Fernando, not yours. The patron will want to know why you were
away. You will tell him that John Corliss came to your camp; that you
thought I wanted to talk with him alone. Then he will know that it was
my fault. I'll tell him when I get back