On the breeze there came to them from far to the left a faint booming. Prowers looked toward the rocky escarpment back of which lay the big dam under construction. The wrinkled, leathery face told no tales. “Still blasting away on his dinged dam project. That fellow Merrick is either plumb fool or else we are. I got to find out which.” “I reckon he can’t make water run uphill,” the dark man commented. “No, Don. But maybe he doesn’t have to do that. Maybe the Government engineers are wrong. I’ll admit that don’t look reasonable to me. They put it down in black and white--three of ’em, one after another--that Elk Creek Cañon is higher at the far end than this dam site of his. They dropped the scheme because it wasn’t feasible. Probably Merrick’s one of these squirts that know it all. Still--” The sentence died out, but the man’s thoughts raced on. Black desisted from chewing tobacco to hum a fragment of a song he had cherished twenty-five years. “Every daisy in the dell Knows my story, knows it well,” he murmured tunelessly. “If he should be right, by jiminy by jinks--” Prowers was talking to himself. He let the conditional clause stand alone. Slowly the palm of his hand rasped back and forth over a rough, unshaven chin. “Did they catch this tramp that shot up Clint?” asked Black. “Not yet. Daniels is patrolling the railroad. If the fellow hasn’t made his getaway on the night freight, they’ll likely get him. He’s got to stick to the railway.” “Why has he?” the rider inquired. He was watching a moving object among the rocks below. “So’s to skip the country. He ain’t acquainted here--knows nothing about these hills. If he wasn’t taken by some rancher and turned over to Daniels, he’d starve to death. Likely he’s lying under cover somewheres along the creek.” “Likely he ain’t,” differed Black. “Likely he’s ducked for the hills.” His gaze was still on the boulder field below. From its case beside the saddle he drew a rifle. “Why would he do that?” “I dunno why, except that a fellow on the dodge can’t always choose the road he’s gonna travel. Any reward for this guy?” “Ain’t heard of any. Yore conscience joggin’ you to light out and hunt for the man that shot up Clint, Don?” his employer probed derisively. “I wouldn’t have to hunt far, Jake,” the herder replied, a note of triumph in the drawling voice. For once he had got the better of the boss in a verbal duel. “He’s right down there among the rocks.” “Down where?” The barrel of the rifle pointed to a group of large boulders which, in prehistoric days, perhaps, had broken from the ledge above and rolled down. “Don’t see any one,” Jake said after the pale-blue eyes had watched the spot steadily for several moments. “He’s seen us, an’ he’s lying hid. You keep him covered while I go down and collect him.” Prowers gave this consideration and vetoed the suggestion. “No, you stay here, Don, and I’ll go get him.” “If there’s any reward--”