so far as to wish the Flying U camp farther away than it probably was.
He wanted to get somewhere, and ask help from strangers rather than
those he knew best.

With that idea fixed in his mind, he got stiffly to his bruised feet,
readjusted the sheepskin and began wearily to climb higher. When the
sun tinged all the hilltops golden yellow, he turned and shook his
fist impotently at the camp far beneath him. Then he went on doggedly.

Standing at last on a high peak, he looked away toward the sunrise and
made out a white speck on a grassy side-hill; beside it, a gray square
moved slowly over the green. Sheep, and a sheep camp--and Happy Jack,
hater of sheep though he was, hailed the sight as a bit of rare good
luck. His spirits rose immediately, and he started straight for the
place.

Down in the next coulee--there were always coulees to cross, no matter
in what direction one would travel--he came near running plump into
three riders, who were Irish Mallory, and Weary, and Pink. They were
riding down from the direction of the camp where were the women, and
they caught sight of him immediately and gave chase. Happy Jack had no
mind to be rounded up by that trio; he dodged into the bushes, and
though they dug long, unmerciful scratches in his person, clung to the
shelter they gave and made off at top speed. He could hear the others
shouting at one another as they galloped here and there trying to
locate him, and he skulked where the bushes were deepest, like a
criminal in fear of lynching.

Luck, for once, was with him, and he got out into another
brush-fringed coulee without being seen, and felt himself, for the