The other laughed.  His eyes twinkled in the ruddy glow of the stove.  Suddenly he straightened his shoulders and appeared to be listening.  “It’s the hosses,” he said finally.  “Some coyote’s fussin’ around bothering ’em.  It’s a long way from home as the song goes.  Lend me your gun and I’ll go see if I can plug one of ’em and stop their yipping.”

Sundown presented his gun to the stranger, who slid it between trousers and shirt at the waist-band.  “Don’t hear ’em now,” he announced finally.  “Well, guess I’ll roll in.”

Strangely enough, he had apparently forgotten to return the gun.  Sundown, undecided whether to ask for it or not, finally spread his blankets and called Chance to him.  The dog curled at his master’s feet.  Save for the diminishing crackle of dry brush in the stove, the room was still.  Evidently the ruddy-faced individual was asleep.  Vaguely troubled by the stranger’s failure to return his gun, Sundown drifted to sleep, not for an instant suspecting that he was virtually the prisoner of the sheriff of Apache County, who had at Loring’s instigation determined to arrest the erstwhile tramp for the murder of Fadeaway.  The sheriff had his own theory as to the killing and his theory did not for a moment include Sundown as a possible suspect, but he had a good, though unadvertised, reason for holding him.  Accustomed to dealing with frontier folk, he argued that Sundown’s imprisonment would eventually bring to light evidence leading to the identity of the murderer.  It was a game of bluff, and at such a game he played a master hand.

The stranger seemed unusually affable in the morning.  He made the fire, and, before Sundown had finished eating, had the two ponies saddled and ready for the road.  Sundown thought him a little too agreeable.  He was even more perplexed when the man said that he had changed his mind and would ride to Antelope with him.  “Thought you said you was goin’ to the Concho?”

“Well, seeing you say Jack can’t ride yet, guess I’ll wait.”

“He can talk, all right,” asserted Sundown.

The other paid no apparent attention to this remark but rode along pointing out landmarks and discoursing largely upon the weather, the feed, and price of hay and grain and a hundred topics associated with ranch-life.  Sundown, forgetful of his pose as a vaquero of long standing (unintentional), assumed rather the attitude of one absorbing information on such topics than disseminating it.  Nor did he understand the stranger’s genial invitation to have supper with him at Antelope that night, as they rode into the town.  He knew, however, that he was creating a sensation, which he attributed to his Mexican spurs and chaps.  People stared at him as he stalked down the street and turned to stare again.  His companion seemed very well known in Antelope.  Nearly every one spoke to him or waved a greeting.  Yet there was something peculiar in their attitudes.  There was an aloofness about them that was puzzling.