It was evident that Sneed had quite a bunch of horses running in the
meadows. Presently Cheyenne came to a narrow trail which crossed a
meadow. At the far end of the trail, close to the timber, was a spring,
fenced with poles. The spring itself was boxed, and roundabout were the
marks of high-heeled boots. Cheyenne realized that he must be close to
Sneed's cabin. He wondered if he had been seen.

If he had, the only thing to do was to act natural. He was now too close
to a habitation--although he could see none--to do otherwise. So he
dismounted and, tying his horse to the spring fence, he stepped through
the gate and picked up the rusted tin cup and dipped it in the cold
mountain water. He had the cup halfway to his lips when his horse
nickered. From somewhere in the brush came an answering nicker.
Cheyenne, kneeling, threw the water from the cup as though he had
discovered dirt in it, and dipped the cup again.

Behind him he heard his horse moving restlessly. As Cheyenne raised the
cup to drink, he half closed his eyes, and glancing sideways, caught a
glimpse of a figure standing near the upper end of the spring fence.
Cheyenne drank, set down the cup, and, rising, turned his back on the
figure, and, stretching his arms, yawned heartily. He strode to his
horse, untied the reins, mounted, and began to sing:

Seems like I don't get anywhere
Git along, cayuse, git along!
But we're leavin' here and--

"What's your hurry?" came from behind him.