Corliss rode into camp, swung from the saddle, and called to Shoop.  The men gazed at each other, nodded, and the words “Loring” and “sheep,” punctuated their mutterings.

Shoop and Corliss talked together.  Then the foreman called to Hi Wingle, asking him how the “chuck” was holding out.

“Runnin’ short on flour and beans, Bud.  Figured on makin’ the Concho to-morrow.”

Corliss and his foreman came to the fire.  “Boss says we’re goin’ to bush here the rest of this week,” and Corliss nodded.

“I’m expecting company on the west side,” explained Corliss,

The men gazed at each other knowingly.

“All right,” said Wingle.  “Four sacks of flour and a sack of frijoles’ll see us through.  Got enough other stuff.”

“Send some one in for it,” ordered Corliss.  “I’m going to stay with the outfit, from now on.”

The men cheered.  That was the kind of a boss to work for!  No settin’ back and lettin’ the men do the fightin’!  Some style to Jack Corliss!  All of which was subtly expressed in their applause, although unspoken.

“To see that you boys don’t get into mischief,” continued Corliss, smiling.

“Which means keepin’ other folks out of mischief, eh, patron?” said a cow-puncher.

At the word “patron” the men laughed.  “They’re talkin’ of turnin’ this outfit into a sheep-camp,” remarked another.  “Ba-a-ah!” And again they laughed.

Shoop motioned to Sundown who rose from beside the fire.  “You can saddle up, Sun.”

Sundown caught up his horse and stood waiting while one of the men saddled two pack-animals.  “Tony has the keys.  He’ll pack the stuff for you,” said Corliss.  “Keep jogging and you ought to be back here by sunup.”

The assistant cook mounted and took the lead-rope of the pack-horses.  He was not altogether pleased with the prospect of an all-night ride, but he knew that he had been chosen as the one whose services could most easily be dispensed with at the camp.  Silently he rode away, the empty kyacks clattering as the pack-horses trotted unwillingly behind him.  Too busy with the unaccustomed lead-rope to roll cigarettes, he whistled, and, in turn, recited verse to keep up his spirits.

About midnight he discerned the outline of the low ranch-buildings and urged his horse to a faster gait.  As he passed a clump of cottonwoods, his horse snorted and shied.  Sundown reined him in and leaned peering ahead.  The pack-animals tugged back on the rope.  Finally he coaxed them past the cottonwoods and up to the gate.  It was open, an unusual circumstance which did not escape his notice.  He drifted through the shadows toward the corral, where he tied the horses.  Then he stepped to the bunk-house, found a lantern and lighted it.  He hallooed.  There was no response.  He stalked across to the ranch-house.  He found the door unlocked.  “Hi!  Tony!” he called.  No one answered.  He pushed the door open and entered.  Holding the lantern above his head he peered around the room.