thoroughly familiar with the trail from Antelope to the White Hills. And
Dobe smelled the presence of his kind, even while Bartley, peering ahead
in the dusk, rode on, not aware that some one was camped within calling
distance of the trail. A cluster of junipers hid the faint glow of the
camp-fire.

Dobe stopped suddenly. Bartley urged him on. For the first time the big
horse showed an inclination to ignore the rein. Bartley gazed round, saw
nothing in particular, and spoke to the horse, urging him forward. Dobe
turned and marched deliberately away from the road, heading toward the
west, and nickered. From behind the screen of junipers came an answering
nicker. Bartley hallooed. No one answered him. Yet Dobe seemed to know
what he was about. He plodded on, down a slight grade. Suddenly the soft
glow of a camp-fire illumined the hollow.

A blanket-roll, a saddle, a coil of rope, and a battered canteen and the
fire--but no habitant of the camp.

"Hello!" shouted Bartley.

Dobe shied and snorted as a figure loomed in the dusk, and Cheyenne was
peering up at him.

"Is this the water-hole?" Bartley asked inanely.

"This is her. I'm sure glad to see you! I feel like a plumb fool for
standin' you up that way--but I didn't quite get you till I seen your
face. I thought I knowed your voice, but I never did see you in jeans,
and ridin' a hoss before. And that hat ain't like the one you wore in
Antelope."