flat on his stomach behind the rock, his rifle muzzle projecting
between two medium-sized stones near the base of the large rock, his
eye trained along the barrel, watching the crest of the hill on which
the men were concealed.

The first man was dead. Sanderson could see him, prone, motionless,
rigid.

Evidently the two men were doubtful. Certainly they were cautious.
But at the end of an hour their curiosity must have conquered them, for
Sanderson, still alert and watchful, saw a dark blot slowly appear from
around the bulging side of a rock.

The blot grew slowly larger, until Sanderson saw that it appeared to be
the crown of a hat. That it was a hat he made certain after a few
seconds of intent scrutiny; and that it was a hat without any head in
it he was also convinced, for he held his fire. An instant later the
hat was withdrawn. Then it came out again, and was held there for
several seconds.

Sanderson grinned. "I reckon they think I'm a yearlin'," was his
mental comment.

There was another long wait. Sanderson could picture the two men
arguing the question that must deeply concern them: "Which shall be the
first to show himself?"

"I'd bet a million they're drawin' straws," grinned Sanderson.

Whether that method decided the question Sanderson never knew. He