mesas. As they topped the rise Fadeaway again urged his cayuse to
a run, for the puncher had enjoyed the hospitality of his companions of
"The Blue," a distant cattle ranch, a day longer than had been set for
his return to the Concho. Just then a startled jack rabbit leaped up
and bounced down the trail ahead of them. Fadeaway jerked his horse to
a stop. "Now we'll see some real speed!" he said. There was a flash
of the dog's long body, which grew smaller and smaller in the distance;
then a puff of dust spurted up. Fadeaway saw the dog turn end over
end, regain his feet and toss something in the air.

"The fastest dog in Arizona," remarked the cowboy. "And you, you
glass-eyed son of a mistake, you're about as fast as a fence-post!"
This to his patient and willing pony, that again swung into a run and
ran steadily despite his fatigue, for he feared the instant slash of
the quirt should he slacken pace.

Round a bend in the trail, where an arm of the distant forest ran out
into the mesa. Fadeaway again set his horse up viciously. Chance
stopped and looked up at the rider. The cowboy pointed through the
thin rim of timber beyond which a herd of sheep was grazing. "Take
'em!" he whispered. Chance hesitated, not because he was unfamiliar
with sheep, but because he had been punished for chasing and worrying
them. "Go to it! Take 'em, Chance!"

The dog slunk through the timber and disappeared. The cowboy rode
slowly, peering through the timber. Presently came the trample of
frightened sheep--a shrill bleating, and then silence. Fadeaway loped
out into the open. The sheep were running in all directions. He
whistled the dog to him. Chance's muzzle dripped red. The dog slunk
round behind the horse, knowing that he had done wrong, despite the
fact that he had been set upon the sheep.

From the edge of the timber some one shouted. The cowboy turned and
saw a herder running toward him. He reined around and sat waiting
grimly. When the herder was within speaking distance. Fadeaway's hand
dropped to his hip and the herder stopped. He gesticulated and spoke
rapidly in Spanish. Fadeaway answered, but in a kind of Spanish not
taught in schools or heard in indoor conversation.

The herder pressed forward. "Why, how! Fernando. Now what's bitin'
you?"

"The sheep! He kill the lamb!" cried the herder.

Fadeaway laughed. "Did, eh? Well, I tried to call him off. Reckon
you heard me whistle him, didn't