night herders--and one other.

Healy lay a little apart from the rest, partially screened by some boxes
of provisions and a couple of sacks of flour. His jaw was clamped tight.
He looked into the deep velvet sky without seeing. For a long time he
did not move. Then, noiselessly, he sat up, glanced around carefully to
make sure he was not observed, rose, and stole into the darkness,
carrying with him his saddle and bridle.

One of his ponies was hobbled in the mesquite. Swiftly he saddled.
Leading the animal very carefully so as to avoid rustling the brush, he
zigzagged from the camp until he had reached a safe distance. Here he
swung himself on and rode into the blur of night, at first cautiously,
but later with swift-pounding hoofs. He went toward the northwest in a
bee line without hesitation or doubt. Only when the lie of the ground
forced a detour did he vary his direction.

So for hours he travelled until he reached a cañon in which squatted a
little log cabin. He let his voice out in the howl of a coyote before he
dismounted. No answer came, save the echo from the cliff opposite. Again
that mournful call sounded, and this time from the cabin found an
answer.

A man came sleepily to the door and peered out. "Hello! That you,
Brill?"

Healy swung off, trailed his rein, and followed the man into the cabin.
"Don't light up, Tom. No need."

For ten minutes they talked in low tones. Healy emerged from the cabin,