"Jack'll report to Antelope and try and keep the boys
quiet. I'm sure with Jack--only I was a puncher first afore I took to
cookin'. And I'm a puncher yet--inside." Which was his singular and
only spoken tribute to the memory of Sinker. He had reasoned that it
was only right and fitting that the slayer of a cowman should be slain
by a cowman--a code that held good in his time and would hold good
now--especially when the boys saw the battered Stetson, every line of
which was mutely eloquent of its owner's individuality.
Sundown drifted through the afternoon solitudes, his mind dulled by the
monotony of the theme which obsessed him. It was evening when he
reached the water-hole. Around the enclosure straggled a few stray
sheep. He cautioned Chance against molesting them. Ordinarily he
would have approached the ranch-house timidly, but he was beyond fear.
He rode to the gate, tied his horse, and stepped to the doorway. The
door was open. He entered and struck a match. In the dusk he saw that
the room was empty save for a tarpaulin and a pair of rawhide kyacks
such as the herders use.
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