After that Lowrie headed straight across the mountains, traveling as
much by instinct as by landmarks. He was one of those men who are born
to the trail. He stopped in at Four Pines, and there he told the story
on which he and Sandersen and Quade had agreed. Four Pines would spread
that tale by telegraph, and Riley Sinclair would be advised beforehand.
Lowrie had no desire to tell the gunfighter in person of the passing of
Hal Sinclair. Certainly he would not be the first man to tell the
story.

He reached Colma late in the afternoon, and a group instantly formed
around him on the veranda of the old hotel. Four Pines had indeed
spread the story, and the crowd wanted verification. He replied as
smoothly as he could. Hal Sinclair had broken his leg in a fall from
his horse, and they had bound it up as well as they could. They had
tied him on his horse, but he could not endure the pain of travel. They
stopped, nearly dying from thirst. Mortification set in. Hal Sinclair
died in forty-eight hours after the halt.

Four Pines had accepted the tale. There had been more deadly stories
than this connected with the desert. But Pop Hansen, the proprietor,
drew Lowrie to one side.

"Keep out of Riley's way for a while. He's all het up. He was fond of
Hal, you know, and he takes this bad. Got an ugly way of asking
questions, and--"

"The truth is the truth," protested Lowrie. "Besides--"

"I know--I know. But jest make yourself scarce for a couple of days."