The wagon had gone ahead to the place appointed for to-night’s camp.  Since the herd was large, while days were hot and water-holes scarce, Howard had planned the devious way by Middle Springs, Parker’s Gulch, the end of Antelope Valley, across the little hills lying to the north of Poco Poco and on into San Juan by the chain of mud-holes where the old Mexican corrals were.  Hence, he counted upon being at least four days on the road to San Juan.  There his responsibilities would cease, as there the buyers had promised to meet him, taking the herd on into the railroad.

During the days which followed he was as busy as a man should care to be, for the task of moving a large herd across a dry and baking country and through it all keeping the cattle in first-class condition, is no small one.  And busy in mind was he when the stars were out and camp was pitched.  He lay with his head on his saddle, his pipe in his teeth, his thoughts withdrawn from his business of stock-selling and centred elsewhere.  The second night out the boys noted a change in Al Howard; the third night they asked one another ’what had come over the old man.’  For whereas formerly his had always been the gayest voice around the camp fire, his the tongue to spin a yarn or start a cowboy ballad, now he withdrew after a silent supper and threw himself down on the ground and stared at the stars, his thoughts his own behind the locked guard of his shut teeth.

‘He’s figgering on something—­hard,’ said Dave Terril.  ’Might be about Jim Courtot.’

‘Or them tracks,’ suggested Sandy Weaver.  ’The barefoot’s and the gigantic wolf.’

‘Or,’ put in a chuckling voice from the shadows, ’a girl, huh?  Having took a good look at old man Longstreet’s girl, I wouldn’t blame Al overmuch.’

By the time the adobe walls of picturesque San Juan swam into view across the dry lands Alan Howard had at least reshaped and clarified his theory of the tracks, had made up his mind concerning Jim Courtot and had dreamed through many an hour of Helen.  As to Helen, he meant to see a very great deal of her when he returned to Desert Valley.  As to Jim Courtot, he meant to end matters one way or another without any great delay.  For to a man of the type of Alan Howard the present condition was unbearable.  He knew that Courtot was ‘looking for him’; that Courtot had gone straight to the ranch-house and had sat down with his gun in front of him, waiting for Howard’s step on the porch; that when the first opportunity arose Jim Courtot would start shooting.  It was not to his liking that Courtot should have things all his way.  The gambler would shoot from the dark, as he had done before, if he had the chance.  That chance might come to-night or a year from now, and constant expectancy of this sort would, soon or late, get on a man’s nerves.  In short, if Courtot wanted to start something, Howard fully meant to have it an even break; if Courtot were looking for him he could expedite matters by looking for Courtot.