He shook his bridle, and while one or two of the men turning in their saddles looked about them the horses plodded on, but Shyanne stood still for at least five minutes. He was not especially remarkable for intelligence, but it was evident to him that the men had a sufficient reason for desiring that nobody should see them. Then he put his pipe away, and proceeded circumspectly up the trail, with the print of the horse hoofs leading on before him, until they turned off abruptly into the bush. The meaning of this was incomprehensible, since it was not the season when timber-right or mineral prospectors started on their journeys, and Shyanne decided that it might be advisable to go on and inform Wilkins of what he had seen. Still, he made no great progress, for the snow was soft, and, after all, the Canopus did not belong to him. About the time he reached it, Brooke, who had come up there on some business with Wilkins, was lounging, cigar in hand, on the verandah at the ranch. The night was, for the season, still and almost warm, and a half-moon hung low above the dripping pines, while he found the silence and the sweet resinous odors soothing, for he had been toiling feverishly at the Dayspring of late. Why he stayed there when there was no longer any reason he should not go back to England, and Barbara had told him that his offences were too grievous to be forgiven, he did not exactly know. Still, the work had taken hold of him, and he felt that while she was in the country he could not go away. He was wondering, disconsolately, whether time would soften her indignation, or if she would always be merciless, when Wilkins came into the verandah. He was an elderly and somewhat deliberate man, but Brooke fancied he was anxious just then. "It's kind of fortunate you're here to-night. We've got to have a talk," he said. Brooke gave him a cigar, and leaned against the balustrade, when he slowly lighted it. "You can't let me have the men I asked for?" he said. Wilkins made a little gesture. "All you want. That's not the point. Now, you just let me have a minute or two." Ten had passed before he had related what Shyanne had told him, and then Brooke, who saw the hand of Saxton in this, quietly lighted another cigar. "Well," he said, "what do you make of it? They're scarcely likely to be timber-righters?" "They might be claim-jumpers." "Still, nobody could jump a claim whose title was good." Wilkins appeared a trifle uneasy, though it was too dark for Brooke to see him well, but he apparently made up his mind to speak. "The fact is, our title isn't quite as good as it might be. That is, there's a point or two anybody who knew all about it could make trouble on," he said, and then turned, a trifle impatiently, to Brooke. "You take it blame quietly. I had kind of figured that would astonish you." Brooke laughed. "I had surmised as much already. We'll suppose the men Shyanne saw intend to jump the claim. How will they set about it?"