"Guess I'll stake out the hoss," said the man. "See you later."
Chance, who had stood with head lowered and neck outstretched, whined and leaped up at Sundown, standing with paws on his master's chest and vainly endeavoring to tell him something. The dog's eyes were eloquent and intense.
Sundown patted him. "It's all right, Chance. That guy's all right. Guess I know a good face when I see one. What's the matter, anyway?"
Chance dropped to his feet and stalked to his corner. He settled himself with a lugubrious sigh, as though unwillingly relinquishing his responsibilities in the matter.
When the stranger returned, Sundown had a fire going. "Feels good," commented the man, rubbing his hands and surveying the room in the glow that flared up as he lifted the stove-lid. "On your way in?"
"Me? Nope. I'm goin' to Antelope."
"So? Is Jack Corliss hurt bad?"
"He was kind o' shook up for a couple of days. Guess he's gettin' along all right now. Reckon you heard what somebody done to Fadeaway."
The stranger nodded. "They got him, all right. Knew Fade pretty well myself. Guess I'll eat.—That coffee of yours was good, all right," he said as he finished eating. He reached for the coffee-pot and tipped it. "She's plumb empty."
"I'll fill her," volunteered Sundown, obligingly.