’Sandro raised his hands and implored Sundown to save him from the riders.  Sundown stepped to the window.  He saw the flash of spurs and bits as a group of the Concho boys swept down the road.  One of them was leading a riderless horse.  In a flash he realized that they had found the herder’s horse and had tracked ’Sandro to the water-hole.  He backed away from the window and reaching down took the Mexican’s gun from its holster. “’T ain’t what I figured on,” he muttered.  “They’s me friends, but this is me ranch.”

With a rush and a slither of hoofs in the loose sand the Concho riders, headed by Shoop, swung up to the gate and dismounted.  Sundown stepped to the doorway, Chance beside him.

Shoop glanced quickly at the silent figure.  Then his gaze drifted to the ground.

“‘Mornin’, Sun!  Seen anybody ’round here this mornin’?”

“Mornin’, fellas.  Nope.  Just me and Chance.”

The men hesitated, eyeing Sundown suspiciously.

Corliss stepped toward the ranch-house.

“Guess we’ll look in,” he said, and stepped past Shoop.

Sundown had closed the door of the bedroom.  He was at a loss to prevent the men entering the house, but once within the house he determined that they should not enter the bedroom.

He backed toward it and stood with one shoulder against the lintel. 
“Come right in.  I ain’t got to housekeepin’ yet, but . . .”

He ceased speaking as he saw Corliss’s gaze fixed on the kyacks.  “Where did you get ’em?” queried the rancher.

The men crowded in and gazed curiously at the kyacks—­then at Sundown.

Shoop strode forward.  “The game’s up, Sun.  We want the Mexican.”

“This is me ranch,” said Sundown.  “I got the papers—­here.  You fellas is sure welcome—­only they ain’t goin’ to be no shootin’ or such-like.  I ain’t joshin’ this time.”

A voice broke the succeeding silence.  “If the Mexican is in there, we want him—­that’s all.”

Sundown’s eyes became bright with a peculiar expression.  Slowly—­yet before any one could realize his intent—­he reached down and drew the Mexican’s gun.  “You’re me friends,” he said quietly.  “He’s in there—­dyin’.  I reckon Sinker got him.  He drug himself here last night and I took him in.  This is me home—­and if you fellas is men, you’ll let him die easy and quiet.”

“I’m from Missouri,” said Shoop, with a hard laugh.  “You got to show me that he’s—­like you say, or—­”

Sundown leveled his gun at Shoop.  “I ain’t lyin’ to you, Bud.  Sinker was me friend.  And I ain’t lyin’ when I says that the fust fella that tries to tech him crosses over afore he does.”

Some one laughed.  Corliss touched Shoop’s arm and whispered to him.  With a curse the foreman turned and the men clumped out to the yard.

“He’s right,” said Corliss.  “We’ll wait.”

They stood around talking and commenting upon Sundown’s defense of the Mexican.