CHAPTER III
THIRTY MILES TO THE CONCHO
John Corliss rode up to the water-hole, dismounted, and pushed through the gate. His horse "Chinook" watched him with gently inquisitive eyes. Chinook was not accustomed to inattention when he was thirsty. He had covered the thirty miles from the Concho Ranch in five long, dry, and dusty hours. He nickered. "In a minute," said Corliss. Then he knocked at the ranch-house door. Riders of the Concho usually strode jingling into the ranch-house without formality. Corliss, however, had been gazing at the lean stovepipe for hours before he finally decided that there was smoke rising from it. He knocked a second time.
"She ain't locked," came in a rusty, smothered voice.
Corliss shoved the door open with his knee. The interior was heavy with smoke. Near the stove knelt Sundown trying to encourage the smoke to more perpendicular behavior. He coughed. "She ain't good in her intentions, this here stove. One time she goes and the next time she stays and takes a smoke. Her innards is out of gear. Whew!"
"The damper has slipped down," said Corliss.
"Her little ole chest-pertector is kind o' worked down toward her stummick. There, now she feels better a'ready."
"Cooking chuck?" queried Corliss, glancing round the bare room.
"Rabbit," replied Sundown. "When I hit this here hotel I was hungry. I seen a rabbit—not this here one, but the other one. This one was settin' in a bunch of-brush on me right-of-way. I was behind and runnin' to make up time. I kind o' seen the leetle prairie-dog give me the red to slow down, but it was too late. Hit his cyclone cellar with me right driver, and got wrecked. This here leetle wad o' cotton was under me steam-chest. No other passengers hurt, except the engineer."