‘Did yuh tie him up after the fight?’ asked Hashknife.
‘We didn’t have anything to tie him with,’ said Rex. ‘But he never tried to get up, you see.’
‘Uh-huh.’
The moon was up when they reached the spot where Rex and Nan had dropped into the cañon. It silvered the hills and the cliffs on the opposite side of the cañon.
‘Oh, we forgot about the crazy man!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘He’s still down there in the cave, you know, Hashknife.’
‘Don’t worry about him, Nan.’
They plodded on around the grades, down around the sharp turns, where the stage had given Rex his wild introduction to the country, and on through the flat land to the forks of the road, where they turned to the Lane ranch.
The ranch-house was dark.
‘Queer, isn’t it?’ said Rex. ‘When I was asleep back there, I dreamed about that Navajo rug. It had blood on it—in my dream, Hashknife.’
‘Yeah. It ain’t on the fence down there now; somebody took it.’