Beyond and about was a dusky wall through which loomed queer shapes that seemed to move and change until, approached, they became junipers. Bartley's gaze became fixed upon the road. That, at least, was a reality. He reached back and untied his coat and swung into it. An early star flared over the southern hills. He wondered if he had passed the water-hole. He had a canteen, but Dobe would need water. But Dobe was thoroughly familiar with the trail from Antelope to the White Hills. And Dobe smelled the presence of his kind, even while Bartley, peering ahead in the dusk, rode on, not aware that some one was camped within calling distance of the trail. A cluster of junipers hid the faint glow of the camp-fire. Dobe stopped suddenly. Bartley urged him on. For the first time the big horse showed an inclination to ignore the rein. Bartley gazed round, saw nothing in particular, and spoke to the horse, urging him forward. Dobe turned and marched deliberately away from the road, heading toward the west, and nickered. From behind the screen of junipers came an answering nicker. Bartley hallooed. No one answered him. Yet Dobe seemed to know what he was about. He plodded on, down a slight grade. Suddenly the soft glow of a camp-fire illumined the hollow. A blanket-roll, a saddle, a coil of rope, and a battered canteen and the fire--but no habitant of the camp. "Hello!" shouted Bartley. Dobe shied and snorted as a figure loomed in the dusk, and Cheyenne was peering up at him. "Is this the water-hole?" Bartley asked inanely. "This is her. I'm sure glad to see you! I feel like a plumb fool for standin' you up that way--but I didn't quite get you till I seen your face. I thought I knowed your voice, but I never did see you in jeans, and ridin' a hoss before. And that hat ain't like the one you wore in Antelope." "Then you didn't know just what to expect?" "I wa'n't sure. But say, I got some coffee goin'--and some bacon. Light down and give your saddle a rest." "I'll just water my horse and stake him out and--" "I'll show you where. I see you're ridin' Dobe. Wishful rent him to you?" "No. I bought him." "If you don't mind tellin' me--how much?" "A hundred." "Was Wishful drunk?" "No." "Well, you got a real hoss, there. The water is right close. Old Dobe knows where it is. Just lift off your saddle and turn him loose--or mebby you better hobble him the first night. He ain't used to travelin' with you, yet." "I have a stake-rope," said Bartley. "A hoss would starve on a stake-rope out here. I'll make you a pair of hobbles, pronto. Then he'll stick with my hosses." "Where are they?" "Runnin' around out there somewhere. They never stray far from camp." Bartley watched Cheyenne untwist a piece of soft rope and make a pair of serviceable hobbles. "Now he'll travel easy and git enough grass to keep him in shape. And them hobbles won't burn him. Any time you're shy of hobbles, that's how to make 'em."