Wingle, with the taciturnity of the plainsman, jerked the cinchas tight and swung to the saddle.  Sinker’s death had come like a white-hot flash of lightning from the bulked clouds that had shadowed disaster impending—­and in that shadow the three men rode silently toward the north.  Again Corliss questioned Sundown.  Tense with the stress of an emotion that all but sealed his lips, Sundown turned his white face to Corliss and whispered, “Wait!” The rancher felt that that one terse, whispered word implied more than he cared to imagine.  There was something uncanny about the man.  If the killing of Sinker could so change the timorous, kindly Sundown to this grim, unbending epitome of lean death and vengeance, what could he himself do to check the wild fury of his riders when they heard of their companion’s passing from the sun?

Sinker’s horse, grazing, lifted its head and nickered as they rode up.  They dismounted and turned the body over.  Wingle, kneeling, examined the cowboy’s six-gun.

Corliss, in a burst of wrath, turned on Sundown.  “Damn you, open your mouth.  What do you know about this?”

Sundown bit his nails and glowered at Corliss.  “God A’mighty sent me—­” he began.

With a swift gesture Corliss interrupted.  “You’re working for the Concho.  Was he dead when you found him?”

Sundown slowly raised his arm and pointed across the mesa.

Corliss fingered his belt and bit his lip impatiently.

“A herder—­over there to my ranch—­done it.  Sinker told me—­’fore he crossed over.  Said it was ’Sandro.  Said he had orders not to shoot.  He tried to bluff ’em off, for they was bringin’ sheep to the water-hole.  He said to tell you.”

Corliss and Wingle turned from looking at Sundown and gazed at each other.  “If that’s right—­” And the rancher hesitated.

“I reckon it’s right,” said Wingle.  And he stooped and together they lifted the body and laid it across the cowboy’s horse.

Sundown watched them with burning eyes.  “We’ll ride back home,” said Corliss, motioning to him.

“Home?  Ain’t you goin’ to do nothin’?”

Corliss shook his head.  Sundown slowly mounted and followed them to the Concho.  He watched them as they carried Sinker to the bunkhouse.

When Corliss reappeared, Sundown strode up to him.  “This here hoss belongs to that leetle Mexican on the Apache road, Chico Miguel—­said you knowed him.  I was goin’ to take him back with my hoss.  Now I reckon I can’t.  I kind o’ liked it over there to his place.  I guess I want my own hoss, Pill.”

“I guess you better get something to eat and rest up.  You’re in bad shape, Sun.”

Sundown shook his head.  “I got somethin’ to do—­after that mebby I can rest up.  Can I have me hoss?”

“Yes, if it’ll do you any good.  What are you going to do?”

“I got me homesteader papers.  I’m goin’ to me ranch.”