What lay over the rim-rock he did not know, though he meant to
find out.

Daylight found him leaning against a smooth ledge which formed a
part of the black capping he had seen from the road. He had
spent the night toiling over boulders and into small gulches and
out again, trying to find some crevice through which he might
climb to the top. Now he was just about where he had been several
hours before, and even Casey Ryan could not help realizing what a
fine target he would make if he attempted to climb back down the
bluff to camp before darkness again hid his movements.

Standing there puffing and wondering what to do next, he saw the
two burros come picking their way toward the spring for their
morning drink and a handful apiece of rolled oats which Barney
kept to bait them into camp. The lead burro was within easy
flinging distance of a rock, from camp, when the thin,
unmistakable crack of a rifle-shot came from the right, high up
on the rim somewhere beyond Casey. The lead burro pitched
forward, struggled to get up, fell again and rolled over, lodging
against a rock with its four feet sticking up at awkward angles
in the air.

The second burro, always quick to take alarm, wheeled and went
galloping away down the draw. But he couldn't outgallop the
bullet that sent him in a complete somersault down the slope.
Barney might keep the rest of his rolled oats, for the burros
were through wanting them.

Casey squinted along the rim of black rock that crested the peak