d be
ashamed to shoot at a mark so large as I am. I'd say they're poor
shooters." And he added irrelevantly, as he held up a grayish pelt, "I
got that coyote I been chasing for two weeks. He was sure smart. He
had me guessing. But I made him guess some, maybe. He guessed wrong
this time."

Lone's eyes narrowed while he looked Swan over. "You must have been
out all night," he said. "You're crazier about hunting than I am."

"Wet bushes," Swan corrected carelessly. "I been tramping since
daylight. It's my work to hunt, like it's your work to ride." He had
swung into the trail ahead of John Doe and was walking with long
strides,--the tallest, straightest, limberest young Swede in all the
country. He had the bluest eyes, the readiest smile, the healthiest
colour, the sunniest hair and disposition the Sawtooth country had seen
for many a day. He had homesteaded an eighty-acre claim on the south
side of Bear Top and had by that means gained possession of two living
springs and the only accessible portion of Wilder Creek where it
crossed the meadow called Skyline before it plunged into a gulch too
narrow for cattle to water with any safety.

The Sawtooth Cattle Company had for years "covered" that eighty-acre
patch of government land, never dreaming that any one would ever file
on it. Swan Vjolmar was there and had his log cabin roofed and ready
for the door and windows before the Sawtooth discovered his presence.
Now, nearly a year afterwards, he was accepted in a tolerant,
half-friendly spirit. He had not objected to the Sawtooth cattle which
still watered at Skyline Meadow. He was a "Government hunter" and he
had killed many coyotes and lynx and even a mountain lion or two. Lone
wondered sometimes what the Sawtooth meant to do about the Swede, but
so far the Sawtooth seemed inclined to do nothing at all, evidently
thinking his war on animal pests more than atoned for his effrontery in
taking Skyline as a homestead. When he had proven up on his claim they
would probably buy him out and have the water still.

"Well, what do you know?" Swan turned his head to inquire abruptly.
"You're pretty quiet."

Lone roused himself. "Fred Thurman's been dragged to death by that
damned flighty horse of his," he said. "I found him in the brush this
side of Granite Creek. Had his foot caught in the stirrup. I thought
I'd best leave him there till the coroner can view him."

Swan stopped short in the trail and tur