He got stiffly to his feet and moved into the cabin. Setting the old gun just inside the door he took a muslin sack from the table and filled his pipe. Then he absent-mindedly laid the sack back where it had been. He shuffled about the room looking at the objects he had hung on the walls, a worn horseshoe, a belt with a holster containing a forty-five Colt of the frontier model, several bright pictures cut from calendars. Finally he remembered he hadn’t lighted his pipe. He shuffled to where a packing box was nailed to the wall back of the stove and got several matches from a rusty tomato can. After lighting the pipe he puffed contentedly. That day Sam stirred around more than usual. He made up a pack of food and small articles which he wrapped in a blanket roll. The pack was set beside the door. The job took up most of the afternoon. The next morning Sam was up early. Lady Ebony came galloping across the meadow for her morning ration of lump sugar. As he gave it to her he talked in a low, confidential voice to the mare. “I don’t reckon nobody but you and me knows that ol’ Sam’s got him a claim back under the rim.” He chuckled. “Reckon, Lady, it’ll take ol’ Sam ’bout three weeks to pan out five hundred in yaller dust.” He patted her sleek, black neck. “You jest stay around here an’ wait in this medder where there’s good grass. The ol’ yallerbelly’ll keep an eye out for wolves and cougars.” The mare watched as he shouldered his pack and trudged slowly up the slope. She did not follow him, but she nickered several times. At the edge of the spruce Sam turned around and waved his arm. Lady Ebony arched her neck and trotted out into the meadow. The fat whistler on the high rock chuckled and his beady eyes twinkled brightly as he watched her. The sun wheeled higher, warming the grass, drinking up the dew. The black mare wandered down the meadow. She came to a halt near a sharp ledge which broke off into Shadow Canyon. From the blue depths rose the roar of Crazy River. Lady Ebony stirred uneasily. A feeling of deep unrest filled her, an urge to run far, to seek other horses. After a time she wandered back into the meadow and began feeding, but she jerked up her head often, listening, staring into the twilight of the spruce. A few yards from where the black mare fed, a little hill lifted semibarren, yellow clay. It stood in sharp contrast to the lushness of the green meadow. On this round knob a prairie-dog town was located. The main section of the village was a busy scene, with dogs moving, bellies close to the ground, in quick sprints from one grass patch to another or romping through the meadow grass. Sam had brought several pairs of dogs to the mesa. He liked the busy little fellows and had been lonesome until he had a town started. The dogs posted sentinels but they could not see far. The dog sentinels depended on the yellowbelly. They listened for his blasting whistle of warning.