“Yes.  I was just riding into camp when you—­er—­arrived.  I headed the steer back and Fernando cut the rope.”

“Thanks, miss.  And Fernando is wise to his business, all right.”

“Can you sit up now?” she asked.

“Ow!  I guess I can.  That part of me wasn’t expectin’ to be moved sudden-like.  How’d I get under these trees?”

“Fernando carried you.”

“Well, little old Fernando is some carrier.  Where is he?  I wouldn’t mind shakin’ hands with that gent.”

“He’s out after the sheep.  The steer stampeded them.”

“Well, miss, speakin’ from me heart—­that there steer was no lady.  I thought she was till I roped him.  I was mistook serious.”

“He might have killed you.  Let me help you up.”

Sundown had been endeavoring to get to his feet.  Finally he rose and leaned against a tree.  Fortunately for him his course had been over a stretch of yielding bunch-grass, and not, as might have been the case, over the ragged tufa.  As it was his shirt hung from his back in shreds, and he felt that his overalls were not all that their name implied.  The numbness of his abrasions and bruises was wearing off.  The pain quickened his senses.  He realized that his hat was missing, that one spur was gone and the other was half-way up his leg.  He was not pleased with his appearance, and determined to “make a slope” as gracefully and as quickly as circumstances would permit.

Chance, gnawing at a burr that had stuck between his toes, saw his master rise.  He leaped toward Sundown and stood waiting for more fun.

“Chance seems all right now,” said the girl, patting the dog’s head.

“John Corliss give him to me, miss.  He’s my dog now.  Yes, he’s active all right, ‘specially chasin’ steers.”

“I remember you.  You’re the man that carried Chance up the canon trail that day when he was hurt.”

“Yes, miss.  He ain’t forgettin’ either.”

The girl studied Sundown’s lean face as he gazed across the mesas, wondering how he was going to make his exit without calling undue attention to his dearth of raiment.  She had heard that this man, this queer, ungainly outlander, had been companion to Will Corliss.  She had also heard that Sundown had been injured when the robbery occurred.  Pensively she drew her empty gauntlet through her fingers.

“Do you know who took the money—­that night?” she asked suddenly, and Sundown straightened and gazed at her.

He blinked and coughed.  “Bein’ no hand to lie to a lady, I do,” he said, simply.  “But I can’t tell, even if you did save me life from that there steer.”

She bit her lips, and nodded.  “I didn’t really mean to ask.  I was curious to know.  Won’t you take my horse?  You can send him back to-morrow.”

“And you beat it home afoot?  Say, lady, I mebby been a Bo onct, but I ain’t hurt that bad.  If I can’t find me trail back to where I started from, it won’t be because it ain’t there.  Thanks, jest the same.”