Education had little to do with it, as any one would know that no one but a miller would have need of grist, and he spoke of “his mill.” Dirty proved adept as a chef, and Middleton and myself enjoyed the first real meal since we left the dining-car. When it grew dark Ike kicked out the fire, leaving us in darkness. I remonstrated, but he said:
“Build you one if you want it, old-timer, but remember this: Any jasper who will load your stove won’t hesitate to shoot at night.”
We spread our blankets in the dark, and Ike and Dirty immediately fell to sleep. The novelty of looking at the stars, and the noises of the night kept Middleton and myself awake. I thought of the stolen sheep and we conversed in whispers.
“The loss of so many sheep must be greater than they care to acknowledge,” whispered Middleton. “They are like the American Indian inasmuch as they are stoical under loss or punishment. It would be wonderful if we could recover the sheep. I am beginning to like them, Pettingill.”
We shook hands over it, procured our shotgun and pistol, and stole away silently, except for the tinkle of Middleton’s spurs.
We crawled out of hearing, got our bearings from the stars and started on our well-meant errand. We were going in single file along the side of a hill on a tiny path, which showed white in the dim light, when suddenly we were confronted by a gigantic figure.
It towered above us, a black hulk, coming at a fast walk. I tried to avoid the impact, but slipped and fell right into the path of the monster.
The next instant it fell over me and into Middleton. I retained my shotgun. I had no way of knowing the fate of poor Middleton, but I ran a short distance before I stopped.
I saw the silhouette of it against the sky and for the first time in my life I fired a gun. The impact of the shot threw me into a cactus-patch, and I feared for a time that it had crushed my lower jaw. I managed to tear myself away from the clinging barbs, and stood erect.
“Middleton!” I cried. “Professor Middleton!”