Edwards forced a grin. "I was handing you one when I said that," he declared, weakly. "I was workin' up sympathy. I'm not out on parole; I'm just a broken-down old cow-puncher herdin' sheep in order to keep clear of the liquor belt." This seemed reasonable, and the ranger remarked, by way of dropping the subject: "I've nothing to say further than this--obey the rules of the forest, and you won't get into any further trouble with me. And as for being shot up by the cow-men, you'll not be disturbed on any national forest. There never has been a single herder shot nor a sheep destroyed on this forest." "I'm mighty glad to hear that," replied Edwards, with sincere relief. "I've had my share of shooting up and shooting down. All I ask now is quiet and the society of sheep. I take a kind of pleasure in protecting the fool brutes. It's about all I'm good for." He did, indeed, look like a man in the final year of life as he spoke. "Better turn in," he said, in kindlier tone; "I'm an early riser." The old fellow rose stiffly, and, laying aside his boots and trousers, rolled into his bunk and was asleep in three minutes. Cavanagh himself was very tired, and went to bed soon after, to sleep dreamlessly till daylight. He sprang from his bed, and after a plunge in the stream set about breakfast; while Edwards rose from his bunk, groaning and sighing, and went forth to wrangle the horses, rubbing his hands and shivering as he met the keen edge of the mountain wind. When he returned, breakfast was ready, and again he expressed his gratitude. "Haven't you any slicker?" asked Cavanagh. "It looks like rain." "No, I'm run down pretty low," he replied. "The truth is, Mr. Ranger, I blew in all my wages at roulette last week." Ross brought out a canvas coat, well worn but serviceable. "Take this along with you. It's likely to storm before we reach the sheep-camp. And you don't look very strong. You must take care of yourself." Edwards was visibly moved by this kindness. "Sure you can spare it?" "Certain sure; I've another," returned the ranger, curtly. It was hardly more than sunrise as they mounted their ponies and started on their trail, which led sharply upward after they left the canon. The wind was strong and stinging cold. Over the high peaks the gray-black vapor was rushing, and farther away a huge dome of cloud was advancing like an army in action. It was all in the day's work of the ranger, but the plainsman behind him turned timorous eyes toward the sky. "It looks owly," he repeated. "I didn't know I was going so high--Gregg didn't say the camp was so near timber-line." "You've cut out a lonesome job for yourself," Ross assured him, "and if you can find anything else to do you'd better give this up and go back." "I'm used to being lonesome," the stranger said, "but I can't stand the cold and the wet as I used to. I never was a mountaineer."