With a jaunty, swinging step he sauntered along, and this time, at
least, his tactics found an early reward. Topping the first large rise
of ground, he saw in the hollow beneath him the outline of a large
building. And as he approached it, the wind clearing a high blowing mist
from the stars, he saw a jumble of outlying houses. Sheds, barns,
corrals--it was the nucleus of a big ranch. It is a maxim that, if you
wish to know a man look at his library and if you wish to know a
rancher, look at his barn. Donnegan made a small detour to the left and
headed for the largest of the barns.

He entered it by the big, sliding door, which stood open; he looked up,
and saw the stars shining through a gap in the roof. And then he stood
quietly for a time, listening to the voices of the wind in the ruin.
Oddly enough, it was pleasant to Donnegan. His own troubles and sorrow
had poured upon him so thickly in the past hour or so that it was
soothing to find evidence of the distress of others. But perhaps this
meant that the entire establishment was deserted.

He left the barn and went toward the house. Not until he was close under
its wall did he come to appreciate its size. It was one of those great,
rambling, two-storied structures which the cattle kings of the past
generation were fond of building. Standing close to it, he heard none of
the intimate sounds of the storm blowing through cracks and broken
walls; no matter into what disrepair the barns had fallen, the house was
still solid; only about the edges of the building the storm kept
murmuring.

Yet there was not a light, neither above nor below. He came to the front
of the house. Still no sign of life. He stood at the door and knocked