Just as he was about to swing out to the open of the mesa near the edge of the canon, he came upon a Mexican boy asleep beneath the low branches of a spruce.  Fadeaway glanced across the mesa and, as he had expected, saw a band of sheep grazing in the sunshine.  His trail ran directly toward the sheep.  Beyond lay the canon.  He would not ride around a herd of sheep that blocked his trail, not if he knew it!  As he drew nearer the sheep they bunched, forcing those ahead to move on.  Fadeaway glanced back at the sleeping boy, then set spur to his horse and waved his sombrero.  The sheep broke into a trot.  He rode back and forth behind them forcing them toward the canon.  He beat upon his rolled slicker with his quirt.  The sound frenzied the sheep and they leaped forward.  Lambs, trailing behind, called dolefully to the plunging ewes that trampled each other in their terror.  Again the cowboy glanced back.  No one was in sight.  He wondered, for an instant, what had become of Fernando, for he knew it was Fernando’s herd.  He shortened rein and spurred his pony, making him rear.  The sheep plunged ahead, those in front swerving as they came to the canon’s brink.  The crowding mass behind forced them on.  Fadeaway reined up.  A great gray wave rolled over the cliff and disappeared into the soundless chasm.  A thousand feet below lay the mangled carcasses of some five hundred sheep and lambs.  A scattered few of the band had turned and were trotting aimlessly along the edge of the mesa.  They separated as the rider swept up.  One terror-stricken lamb, bleating piteously, hesitated on the very edge of the chasm.  Fadeaway swung his hat and laughed as the little creature reared and leaped out into space.  There had been but little noise—­an occasional frightened bleat, a drumming of hoofs on the mesa, and they were swept from sight.

Fadeaway reined around and took a direct line for the nearest timber.  Halfway across the open he saw the Mexican boy running toward him.  He leaned forward in the saddle and hung his spurs in his pony’s sides.  A quick beat of hoofs and he was within the shadow of the forest.  The next thing was to avoid pursuit.  He changed his course and rode toward the heart of the forest.  He would take an old and untraveled bridle-trail to the Blue.  He was riding in a rocky hollow when he thought he heard the creak of saddle-leather.  He glanced back.  No one was following him.  Farther on he stopped.  He was certain that he had again heard the sound.  As he topped the rise he saw Corliss riding toward him.  The rancher had evidently swung from the Concho trail and was making his way directly toward the unused trail which Fadeaway rode.  The cowboy became doubly alert.  He shifted a little in the saddle, sitting straight, his right hand resting easily on his hip.  Corliss drew rein and they faced each other.  There was something about the rancher’s grim, silent attitude that warned Fadeaway.