Later Sundown essayed to smoke, but found the flavor of chocolate incompatible with the enjoyment of tobacco.  Chance dozed by the fire, and Jimmy, with neck stretched above the edge of the box, watched Sundown with beady, blinking eyes.

Sundown slept late next morning.  The lowing of Gentle Annie as she mildly endeavored to make it known that milking-time was past, the muffled grunting of the two pigs as they rooted in the mud or poked flat flexible noses through the bars, the restless padding of Chance to and from the bedroom, merely harmonized in chorus with audible slumbers until one of the hens cackled.  Then Jimmy, from his box near the stove, lifted his clarion shrill in reply to the hen.  Sundown sat up, scratched his ear, and arose.

He was returning from a practice of five-finger exercise on Gentle Annie, busy with his thoughts and the balance of the pail, when a shout brought his gaze to the road.  John Corliss and Bud Shoop waved him greeting, and dismounting led their horses to the yard.

“Saves me a ride,” muttered Sundown.  Then, “How, folks!  Come right in!”

He noticed that the ponies seemed tired—­that the cinchas were mud-spattered and that the riders seemed weary.  He invited his guests to breakfast.  After the meal the three foregathered outside the house.

“That was right good beef you fed us,” remarked Shoop, slightly raising one eyebrow as Corliss glanced at him.

“The best in the country,” cheerfully assented Sundown.

“How you making it, Sun?”

“Me?  Oh, I’m wigglin’ along.  Come home last night and found Jimmy with his leg bruk.  Everything else was all right.”

“Jimmy?”

“Uhuh.  Me rooster.”

“Coyote grab him?”

“Uhuh.  And Chance fixed Mr. Coyote.  I was to Loring’s yesterday on business.”

Shoop glanced at Corliss who had thus far remained silent.

“We had a little business to talk over,” said the rancher.  “You’re located now.  I’m going to run some cattle down this way next week.  Some of mine and some of the Two-Bar-O.”  Corliss, who had been standing, stepped to the doorway and sat down.  Shoop and Sundown followed him and lay outstretched on the warm earth.  “Funny thing, Bud, about that Two-Bar-O steer we found cut up.”

“Sure was,” said Shoop.

“Did he get in a fence?” queried Sundown.

“No.  He was killed for beef.  We ran across him yesterday and did some looking around last night.  Trailed over this way to have a talk.”

“I’m right glad to see you.  I wanted to speak a little piece meself after you get through.”

“All right.  Here’s the story.”  And Corliss gazed across the mesa for a moment.  “The South Spring’s gone dry.  The fork is so low that only a dozen head can drink at once.  It’s been a mighty dry year, and the river is about played out except in the canon, and the stock can’t get to the water there.  This is about the only natural supply outside the ranch.  I want to put a couple of men in here and ditch to that hollow over there.  It’ll take about all your water, but we got to have it.  I want you to put in a gas-engine and pump for us.  Maybe we’ll have to pipe to tanks before we get through.  I’ll give you fifty a month to run the engine.”