Every night at midnight one of the two stages plying between Cody and Meeteetse stopped at the stage camp for supper and horse feed. Every noon the other stage stopped for dinner on its return trip. Between times, horsemen came and went, occasionally, men from the ranches on Wood River and the Grey Bull, miners "packing" their beds behind them, prospectors going out of the mountains for the winter, and every day during the first week there was Sheepy. Sheepy usually came toward night when his flock had been driven in from the range and rounded up by the faithful shepherd dog near the canvas-topped wagon. One day, the last of the week, after Ross had had a particularly trying time with his patient, he left the latter asleep, and going outside, sat on the bench in the sunshine watching Hank who was repairing the corral. Presently Sheepy joined him, first refreshing himself, as usual, with a long look at the snoring Weston. "Once I seen a feller that rode like him and looked like him, only his hair and beard," Sheepy announced finally in a hoarse whisper. "I seen 'im ridin' in ahead of th' stage that night, and I thought 'twas th' other chap." Ross listened without interest. Sheepy filled a pipe with deliberation and lighted it. Then, clasping a worn knee in both hands he spoke again out of the corner of his mouth. "That feller had hair light as tow and his face clean of beard, but he rode the same and his eyes was the same. He was a puncher off the cattle ranges. Used to ride past my wagon alone about once a week headin' fer town. Went in the edge of the evenin' always." "And where were you?" asked Ross still without interest. "Down in Oklahomy. I was herdin' sheep fer old man Quinn." Ross looked at Sheepy with new interest. "I heard the men on the train talking about old man Quinn and the sheep that he lost. Were you there at that time?" Sheepy nodded. "I sartain was. That's two years gone by." "And did you see what was going on--driving the sheep into the river, I mean?" questioned Ross eagerly. The sheep-herder shook his grizzled head. "It wa'n't off my range that the sheep was drove, but another feller's called Happy. He seen there was four men done it. It was night--dark night, and they didn't stop to say howdy ner make any introductions. They shot Happy's dog and got away over the bluff with a thousand sheep. They was drunk, all of 'em, but not too drunk not t' know what they was doin'. Old man Quinn got three of 'em. He's been after the other ever since." "Do you think he'll be caught?" Sheepy moved his shoulders helplessly. "Don't know. Old man Quinn he never lets up on a thing. Took 'im two years t' find three. Bet he don't give t'other up." "Why did they drive the sheep over the bluff?" asked Ross.