"Me? No, lady. But me pal here is hurt bad. Jest breathin'. Killed
a wolf back there. Mebby I can save him."

"Why, it's Chance--of the Concho!"

"Yes, lady. What is left of him."

"Do you work for the Concho? Won't you take my horse?"

"I'm assistant cook at the camp. No, thanks, lady. Ridin' might
joggle him and start him to bleedin'. I can carry him so he'll be
easier-like."

"But how did it happen?"

"I dunno. Chance chased the wolf and they went to it where I was
explorin' one of them caves. I guess I better be goin'."

The girl reined her horse around and rode down the valley trail,
pausing occasionally to watch the tall figure climbing the cañon with
that shapeless burden in his arms. "I wonder if any other man on the
Concho would have done that?" she asked herself. And Sundown, despite
his more or less terrifying appearance, won her estimation for kindness
at once.

Slowly he climbed the cañon trail, resting at each level. The dog hung
a limp, dead weight in his arms. Midway up the trail Sundown rested
again, and gazed down into the valley. He imagined he could discern
the place of the fight. "That there wolf," he soliloquized, "he was