As Pete took the little sack of tobacco, their hands touched and
gripped. "I seen you standin' side of me," said Pete, "when I was
talkin' to Gary."

"You was dreaming" laughed Andy. "That was your shadow."

"Mebby," asserted Pete succinctly. "But I seen out of the corner of my
eye that that there shadow had its hand on its gun. And _I_ sure
didn't."




CHAPTER XII

IN THE PIT

The round-up was over. A trainload of Concho steers was on its way
East, accompanied by four of the Concho boys. The season had been a
good one and prices were fair. Bailey was feeling well. There was no
obvious reason for his restlessness. He had eaten a hearty breakfast.
The sky was clear, and a thin, fragrant wind ran over the high mesa, a
wind as refreshing as a drink of cold mountain water on a hot day.
Suddenly it occurred to Bailey that the deer season was open--that "the
hunting winds were loose." Somewhere in the far hills the bucks were
running again. A little venison would be a welcome change from a
fairly steady diet of beef.

Bailey saddled up, and hung his rifle under the stirrup-leather. He
tucked a compact lunch in his saddle-pockets, filled a _morral_ with