About midnight he discerned the outline of the low ranch-buildings and urged his horse to a faster gait. As he passed a clump of cottonwoods, his horse snorted and shied. Sundown reined him in and leaned peering ahead. The pack-animals tugged back on the rope. Finally he coaxed them past the cottonwoods and up to the gate. It was open, an unusual circumstance which did not escape his notice. He drifted through the shadows toward the corral, where he tied the horses. Then he stepped to the bunk-house, found a lantern and lighted it. He hallooed. There was no response. He stalked across to the ranch-house. He found the door unlocked. "Hi! Tony!" he called. No one answered. He pushed the door open and entered. Holding the lantern above his head he peered around the room.
In the dim light of the lantern vague outlines took shape. He noticed that the small safe in the corner was open. He became alarmed and again called. He heard a slight movement behind him and turned to see the door close. From behind stepped a figure, a slender figure that seemed unreal, yet familiar. With a cry of surprise he jumped back and stood facing his old friend and companion of the road, Will Corliss.
"Billy!" he ejaculated, backing away and staring.
"Yes, it's Billy." And Corliss extended his hand.
"But—what, where—?" Sundown hesitated and glanced at the safe. His eyes widened and he lowered the lantern. "Billy!" he said, ignoring the other's proffered hand, "what you doin' here?"
Corliss assumed a nonchalant air. "Shake, pal! It's a long time since we been in a wreck, eh?"
Sundown was silent, studying the other's hardened features. "Billy!" he reiterated, "what you doin' here?"
Corliss laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?" he retorted,—"in the office of the Concho, at midnight?"
"I was comin' to get flour and beans for the camp—" he began.
Corliss interrupted him. "Sounds good, that! But they don't keep the grub here. Guess you made a mistake."