Taking his rifle, Johnny slipped into the brush, following a course parallel to but some distance from the tracks. For an hour he trailed, seeing numbers of mavericks and but few branded cattle, and twice he was in danger of being charged by crusty, old long-horned "outlaws" who, while having a due and well-founded respect for mounted men, evidently regarded a man on foot as being a different and less dangerous species of animal. These he eluded by taking to the brush and swiftly getting out of sight, detouring and picking up the trail again farther along. Suddenly he stopped and laughed silently. On the farther side of a clump of brush a conical, vertically dented Mexican sombrero loomed against the sky. Waiting a moment to be sure that he had not been heard, he raised the rifle and took long, deliberate aim. With the roar of the gun the peak of the hat flipped up and over, reversing itself as if on a hinge, and hung down on the side of the high crown like a cup. There was a yell of surprise, the hat dipped down below the shielding brush, and the sudden noise of pounding hoofs rolled toward East Canyon. Johnny reloaded and ran to a place from where he could see the fleeing horseman. It was Smitty, and he was mounted on his own horse, a long-legged, big-barreled roan, and it was fresh from a three days' rest. The speed it made awakened a surprised admiration in the laughing rifleman, who watched the departing horseman until he dashed into East Canyon. "Thanks, Smitty," chuckled Johnny. "I'm glad you ain't headin' for th' bunkhouse. Now I won't be bothered by no curious outfit combin' these hills, lookin' for me. Reckon Smitty is goin' to town--or he never would 'a' rode for th' canyon. Just th' same, I'm leavin' for th' Double X. I've seen all I wants out here, an' now I'll try to fix up a round-up for th' SV, an' get the rest of th' figgers I needs." He returned to the horse and rode into the northwest, giving vent to occasional bursts of laughter. "Pepper," he chuckled, as he rode down the other slope of the watershed, "we're havin' more fun down here than we had up around Twin Buttes, but th' show ain't hardly begun. However, we'll laugh while we can, an' meet trouble when it really comes." Smitty pounded into and through East Canyon, busy with his crowded thoughts and harrowed feelings. His horse from habit chose the left-hand turn at the other end of East Arroyo, and swung around the bend toward Gunsight.