bed. He
found savage satisfaction in scattering things about the room, in
wantonly destroying provisions he could not use, and leaving the place
in the wildest confusion. The owner, he recollected, was one of those
who had refused to drink with him in the dance hall. The insane rage
flared out anew. He even thought of burning the shack, but feared that
the smoke would betray him before he could get away. "Won't drink with
me, eh?" he muttered, and ground his heel into the face of a cheap
photograph of a smiling baby girl. He had stopped overnight in this
cabin once and heard the story of how the little two-year-old had
toddled out and been bitten by a rattlesnake, and of the little grave
beneath the tree in front of the house. He laughed, harshly: "Too good
to drink with me!" and deliberately spat tobacco upon the faded little
red shoe that had stood beside the picture. Then he secured his pack
behind the cantle of his saddle, mounted, and rode away, leaving the
dishes unwashed and the door wide open.

It was broad daylight when Purdy left the cabin, and he suddenly
realized that he was riding a stolen horse. He had ridden the horse hard
and it was becoming tired. Also he realized that he was packing the loot
from the cabin. He cursed himself for a fool, for well he knew what
would happen if he were caught--now. He should have been careful to
leave no trail, and should at this moment be "holed up" in some coulee
or patch of timber to wait for darkness. But he dared not camp within
miles of the violated cabin. He was approaching the Bear Paws, and
swinging sharply to the west, decided to skirt the mountains and strike
into the foothills where there are no nesters and no trails. He must
push on. The bad lands were only thirty miles away and if his horse held
out he should reach them in the early afternoon. He breathed easier. The
nester would not reach his cabin till evening.

There was a telephone at the TU and the TU lay between him and the bad
lands. He must either swing in close to the mountains, or take a chance
on the open bench. He chose the mountains, and toward noon passed a
solitary sheepherder seated on the crest of a conical butte with his
band of freshly sheared sheep spread out below him like an irregular
patch of snow. The man motioned him in, but Purdy slipped swiftly into a
coulee and came out a mile below. Later, a lone rider cut his trail, and
from the shelter of a cottonwood thicket, Purdy watched hi