. The turkeys made for a rim of
a narrow canon and from it sailed off into space, leaving Chance a
disconsolate spectator and Sundown sitting his horse and thanking the
Arizona stars that his steed was not equipped with wings. It was then
that he realized that the Concho ranch might be in any one of the four
directions he chose to take. He wheeled the horse, slackened rein, and
allowed that sagacious but apparently disinterested animal to pick its
leisurely way through the forest. Chance trotted sullenly behind. He
could have told his master something about hunting turkeys had he been
able to speak, and, judging from the dog's dejected stride and
expression, speech would have been a relief to his feelings.

The horse, nipping at scant shoots of bunch-grass and the blue-flowered
patches of wild peas, gravitated toward the old trail to the Blue and,
once upon it, turned toward home. Chance, refreshing his memory of the
old trail, ran ahead, pausing at this fallen log and that
fungus-spotted stump to investigate squirrel-holes with much sniffing
and circling of the immediate territory. Sundown imagined that Chance
was leading the way toward home, though in reality the dog was merely
killing time, so to speak, while the pony plodded deliberately down the
homeward trail.

Dawdling along in the barred sunshine, at peace with himself and the
pleasant solitudes, Sundown relaxed and fell to dreaming of Andalusian
castles builded in far forests of the south, and of some Spanish
Penelope--possibly not unlike the Senorita Loring--who waited his
coming with patient tears and rare fidelity. "Them there
true-be-doors," he muttered, "like Billy used to say, sure had the glad
job--singin' and wrastlin' out po'try galore! A singin'-man sure gets
the ladies. Now if I was to take on a little weight--mebby . . ." His
weird soliloquy was broken by a sharp and excited bark. Chance was
standing in the trail, and beyond him there was something . . .

Sundown, anticipating more turkeys, slid from his horse without delay.
He stalked stealthily toward the quivering dog. Then, dropping the
reins, he ran to Corliss, knelt beside him, and lifted his head. He
called to him. He ripped the rancher's shirt open and felt over his
heart. "They killed me boss! They killed me boss!" he wailed, rising
and striding back and forth in impotent excitement and grief. He did
not know where to look for water. He did not know what to do. A
sudd