The Indian, wholly without emotion, began to take stores from the dead herder’s grub-box. He noted that the man’s supplies seemed almost gone, only a few potatoes, a small piece of bacon in an oiled paper, and a little flour remaining. The guide saw his look of question and made explanation. “Camp-tender come soon,” he said. “And who is the camp-tender?” “Each sheep camp has two men. One herder. The other packs in supplies—food for herder, salt for sheep. Come every two weeks, maybe sooner, and camp-tender due here pretty soon. But he’ll find—plenty sheep dead.” For once Hugh did not have to ask questions. The guide’s last few words explained, in a measure, the motive for the murder. Without a herder and with only one dog left to care for the flocks, the beasts of prey would find easy hunting. “But we’ll stop that game,” Hugh said decidedly. “To-morrow morning—to-night, if you think we can make the trail, we’ll go in and take this man’s body to the coroner. Then the sheep owner can send up another herder.” Hugh looked up to find an odd, grim little smile at the guide’s lips. It was a thing to notice: this dark savage was not given to smiling. “You don’t know sheep,” he explained. “You don’t know Running Feet—what he can do in one night.” By intuition more than by actual interpretation of the words Hugh understood. He studied his guide with growing wonder. For the second time that day Pete had dropped back into his own speech. True, in this case the language itself was Hugh’s own, but the idiom was, beyond all denial, savage. He had revealed for an instant something of the strange poetry of the Indian, as well as the Indian’s imaginative interpretation of the wilderness. Running Feet, past all doubt, referred to some of the predatory animals that habitually preyed on the sheep. “In other words—if we hadn’t discovered this murder, the flock would be practically wiped out by the time the camp-tender got here?” “Maybe all gone.” “Even if they send up a man right away there will be some losses.” “We start to-morrow,” Pete explained laboriously. “To-morrow sunset before we reach tel—tel—talk-over-wire? Another sunset, maybe another sunrise, before herder can come all long way. Plenty likely can’t get no one. Cattlemen rich—mighty—many. Maybe no one want the job.” “And we can’t start to-night?” “Trail too dark. Maybe couldn’t catch the horse. Run fast in the dark.” Hugh turned quickly. “What horse do you mean?” Pete smiled again, very dimly. “Eyes maybe half blind. Horse grazing just inside the forest, just outside meadow. Herders always have one horse, maybe two.”