"I don't say anything," returned Stratton, as he paused. "How can I, without knowing the facts? Was the horse a bad one?" "He was new--jest been put in the _remuda_. I never saw him rid except by Doc Peters, who's a shark. I did notice, afterward, he was sorta mean, though I've seen worse. We was on the spring round-up, jest startin' to brand over in the middle pasture." Bud spoke slowly with thoughtfully wrinkled brows. "It was right after dinner when the old man rode up on Socks, the horse he gen'ally used. He seemed pretty excited for him. He got hold of Tex right away, an' the two of them went off to one side an' chinned consid'able. Then they changed the saddle onto this here paint horse, Socks bein' sorta tuckered out, an' rode off together. It was near three hours before Tex came gallopin' back alone with word that the old man's horse had stepped in a hole an' throwed him, breakin' his neck." "Was that part of it true?" asked Buck, who had been listening intently. "About his neck? Sure. They had Doc Blanchard over right away. He'd been throwed, all right, too, from the scratches on his face." "Where did it happen?" "Yuh got me. I wasn't one of the bunch that brought him in. I never thought to ask afterwards, neither. It must of been somewhere up to the north end of the ranch, though, if they kep' on goin' the way they started." For a moment or two Stratton sat silent, staring absently at the sloping bank below him. Was there anything back of the ranch-owner's tragic death save simple accident? The story was plausible enough. Holes were plentiful, and it wouldn't be the first time a horse's stumble had resulted fatally to the rider. On the other hand, it is quite possible, by an abrupt though seemingly accidental thrust or collision, to stir a horse of uncertain temper into sudden, vehement action. At length Buck sighed and abandoned his cogitations as fruitless. Short of a miracle, that phase of the problem was never likely to be answered. "I wonder what took him off like that?" he pondered aloud. "Have you any notion? Is there anything particular up that way?" "Why, no. Nobody hardly ever goes there. They call it the north pasture, but it's never used. There's nothin' there but sand an' cactus an' all that; a goat couldn't hardly keep body an' soul together. Except once lookin' for strays that got through the fence, I never set foot in it myself." Down in the shallow gully where they sat, the shadows were gathering, showing that dusk was rapidly approaching. With a shake of his head and a movement of his wide shoulders, Buck mentally dismissed that subject. "It's getting dark," he said briskly. "We'll have to hustle, or there'll be a searching party out after us. Have you noticed anything else particularly--about Lynch, I mean, or any of the others?"