"So you are!" he said slowly. "So you are! Well, I'll never have that kind of trouble again. Have you eaten? I'm late about dinner. Fact is, I get careless about my meals, living alone!"
"No, I've been out after wild horses and don't plan to eat till I get back to camp ten miles yonder on the creek."
"Better break bread with me," suggested the preacher.
"That's sure white of you. I don't mind if I do." Douglas returned Mr.
Fowler's grim look with one of wistful curiosity.
The preacher silently led the way to the sheep-herder's wagon which perched on the peak of a hill above the draw. "I don't have much to offer you but beans," he said as they dismounted.
Douglas looked from the blood-stained gunny-sack to the clergyman's deep-set eyes, hesitated, then said, "Beans are good and the sheep-man's staple." He followed into the wagon and sat on the edge of the bunk while Fowler prepared the frugal meal.
"Do you mind telling me," asked Doug, "why you are herding sheep instead of folks?"
"I couldn't earn a decent living herding folks. My wife died. I took anything that offered that would take me away from men and their accursed ways. There was something about sheep-herding that made me think of Jesus Christ and the country round about Bethlehem. I have found a kind of peace here."
Douglas cleared his throat. "How long have you been at it?"
"A couple of years."