only the usual familiar bark of coyote and sweep of wind and
rustle of sage. Presently a low jumble of rocks loomed up darkly
somewhat to his right, and, turning that way, he whistled softly.
Out of the rocks glided a dog that leaped and whined about him.
He climbed over rough, broken rock, picking his way carefully,
and then went down. Here it was darker, and sheltered from the
wind. A white object guided him. It was another dog, and this one
was asleep, curled up between a saddle and a pack. The animal
awoke and thumped his tail in greeting. Venters placed the saddle
for a pillow, rolled in his blankets, with his face upward to the
stars. The white dog snuggled close to him. The other whined and
pattered a few yards to the rise of ground and there crouched on
guard. And in that wild covert Venters shut his eyes under the
great white stars and intense vaulted blue, bitterly comparing
their loneliness to his own, and fell asleep.

When he awoke, day had dawned and all about him was bright
steel-gray. The air had a cold tang. Arising, he greeted the
fawning dogs and stretched his cramped body, and then, gathering
together bunches of dead sage sticks, he lighted a fire. Strips
of dried beef held to the blaze for a moment served him and the
dogs. He drank from a canteen. There was nothing else in his
outfit; he had grown used to a scant fire. Then he sat over the
fire, palms outspread, and waited. Waiting had been his chief
occupation for months, and he scarcely knew what he waited for
unless it was the passing of the hours. But now he sensed action
in the immediate present; the day promised another meeting with
Lassiter and Lane, perhaps news of the rustlers; on the morrow he
meant to take the trail to Deception Pass.