a fresh horse, Hi. And let Banks know
how things stand. If Loring isn't all in, you might fetch the doctor
back with you. We'll need him, anyway."

"Sure! Wonder who that is fannin' it this way? Don't look like a
puncher."

Corliss turned and gazed down the road. From the south came little
puffs of dust as a black-and-white pinto running at top speed swept
toward them. He paled as he recognized the horse.

"It's Loring's girl," said Wingle, glancing at Corliss.

Nell Loring reined up as she came opposite the Concho riders and turned
from the road. The men glanced at each other. Then ensued an awkward
silence. The girl's face was white and her dark eyes burned with
reproach as she saw the trampled sheep and here and there the figure of
a man prone on the mesa. Corliss raised his hat as she rode up. She
sat her horse gazing at the men. Without a word she turned and rode
toward the ranch-house. The Concho riders jingled along, in no hurry
to face the scene which they knew awaited them at the water-hole.

She was on her knees supporting her father's head when they dismounted
and shuffled into the yard. The old sheep-man blinked and tried to
raise himself. One of the Concho boys stepped forward and helped her
get the wounded man to the house.

Corliss strode to the bedroom and spoke to Sundown who turned and sat
up. "Get hit, Sun?"

"No. But I'm feelin' kind of sick. Is the ole man dead?"

"He's hurt, but not bad. We want the bed."

Sundown got to his feet and sidled past the girl as she helped her
father to the bed.

"I sent for the doctor," said Corliss.

The girl whirled and faced him. "You!" she exclaimed--"You!"

The rancher's shoulders straightened. "Yes--and it was my gun got him.
You might as well know all there is to it." Then he turned and,
followed by Sundown, stepped to the yard. "We'll keep busy while we're
waiting. Any of you boys that feel like riding can round up the herd.
Hi and I will look after--the rest of it."

"And Bud," suggested a rider.

They found Shoop on the ground, the flesh of his shoulder torn away by
a .45 and a welt of red above his ear where a Mexican's bullet had
creased him. They carried him to the house. "Sun, you might stir
around and rustle some grub. The boys will want to eat directly." And
Corliss stepped to the water-trough, washed his hands, and then rolled
a cigarette. Hi Wingle sat beside him as they waited for dinner.
Suddenly Co