“But you’re not outfitted.  There’s no grub there.  You better take it easy.  You’ll feel better to-morrow.”

“I don’t need no outfit.  I reckon I’ll saddle Pill.”

Sundown turned the Mexican’s pony into the corral and saddled his own horse which he led to the bunk-house.  “I ain’t got no gun,” he said.  “The sheriff gent’s got mine.  Mebby you’d be lendin’ me one?”

Wingle stepped to the doorway and stood beside Corliss.  “What does he want, Jack?”

“He’s loco.  Wants to borrow a gun.”  The rancher turned to Sundown.  “See here, Sun, there’s no use thinking you’ve got to take a hand in this.  Some of the boys’ll get the Mexican sure!  I can’t stop them, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“No.  You come on in and eat,” said Wingle.  “You got a touch of sun, I guess.”

Sundown mounted.  “Ain’t you goin’ to do nothin’?” he asked again.

Corliss and Wingle glanced at each other.  “No, not now.”

“Then me and Chance is,” said Sundown.  “Come on, Chance.”

Corliss and the cook watched the tall figure as it passed through the gateway and out to the mesa.  “I’ll go head him off, if you say the word, Jack.”

Corliss made a negative gesture.  “He’ll come back when he gets hungry.  It’s a long ride to the water-hole.  Sinker had sand to get as near home as he did.  It’s going to be straight hell from now on, Hi.”

Wingle nodded.  Through force of habit he reached for his apron to wipe his hand—­his invariable preliminary before he shook hands with any one.  His apron being off, he hesitated, then stepped to his employer.  “It sure is,” he said, “and I’m ridin’ with you.”

They shook hands.  Moved by a mutual impulse they glanced at the long, rigid shape covered with a blanket.  “When the boys come—­” began Wingle.

“It will be out of our hands,” concluded Corliss.

“If Sun—­”

“I ought to ride out after him,” said Corliss, nodding.  “But I can’t leave.  And you can’t.”

Wingle stepped to the doorway and shaded his eyes.  Far out on the mesa the diminishing figure of a horseman showed black against the glare of the sun.  Wingle turned and, with a glance at the shrouded figure on the bunk-house floor, donned his apron and shuffled to the kitchen.  Corliss tied his horse and strode to the office.

Hi Wingle puttered about the kitchen.  There would be supper to get for fifteen hungry—­No! fourteen, to-night.  He paused, set down the pan that he held and opened the door of the chuck-room.  With finger marking the count he totaled the number of chairs at the table.  Fifteen.  Then he stepped softly to the bunk-room, took Sinker’s hat and stepped back to the table.  He placed the hat on the dead cowboy’s chair.  Then he closed the door and turned to the preparation of the evening meal.  “Jack’ll report to Antelope and try and keep the boys quiet.