called it wealth; but I think that adventure meant more to him.

He picked his way carefully along the edge of the rim-rock,
keeping under cover when he could and watching always the country
ahead. And without any artful description of his progress, I
will simply say that Casey Ryan combed the edge of that rampart
for two miles before dark, and found himself at last on the side
farthest from Barney without having discovered the faintest trace
of any living soul save the woman who rocked back and forth in
the little, secret cabin.

Casey sat down on a rock, took a restrained drink from his
canteen, and said everything he knew or could invent that was
profane and condemnatory of his luck, of the unseen assassin, of
the country and his present predicament. He got up, looked all
around him, sniffed unavailingly for some tang of smoke in the
thin, crisp air, reseated himself and said everything all over
again.

Presently he rose and made his way straight across the butte,
going slowly to lessen his chance of making a noise for
unfriendly ears to hear, and with the stars for guidance.



CHAPTER FOUR

The night was growing cold, and Casey had no coat. At least he
could go down and tell Barney what he had discovered and had
failed to discover, and get something to eat. Barney would