water-hole.

"Pack your saddle and blanket over, when you feel like turnin' in," said
Cheyenne. "And you might throw some dirt on that fire. I ain't lookin'
for visitors down this way, but you can't tell."

Bartley carried his saddle out to the distant clump of junipers.

"Just shed your coat and boots and turn in," invited Cheyenne.

Bartley was not sleepy, and for a long time he lay gazing up at the
stars. Presently he heard Cheyenne snore. The Big Dipper grew dim. Then
a coyote yelped--a shrill cadence of mocking laughter. "I wonder what
the joke is?" Bartley thought drowsily.

Sometime during the night he was awakened by the tramping of horses, a
sound that ran along the ground and diminished in the distance.

Cheyenne was sitting up. He touched Bartley. "Five or six of 'em,"
whispered Cheyenne.

"Our horses?"

"Too many. Mebby some strays."

"Or cowboys," suggested Bartley.

"Night-ridin' ain't so popular out here."

Bartley turned over and fell asleep. It seemed but a moment later that