Elbert was finally able to arrange a few days off, without losing his job outright, though he felt queerly uncertain about coming back, the claim being beyond Yuma on his way East. On a morning in late March, he reached San Forenso, where he was met by Mr. Cotton, with a two-horse rig. The hand that Elbert gripped was crippled in shape, but did not lack strength, and the eyes of Mr. Leadley’s old partner peered into his with such frequency and deep intent from under their bushy white brows, that Elbert began to feel he had never before been so exhaustively appraised. ‘Has Bob started in tellin’ you about Red Ante, yet?’ Mr. Cotton asked after they had driven some time. ‘No,’ said Elbert, wondering if Red Ante were a game. ‘Now that’s funny--he never gets away from that when I see him. That’s one reason I don’t see him a whole lot more. Told you about Bart, of course--’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Way back in Bismo--’ ‘Yes--’ ‘And stopped short at Red Ante?’ ‘I didn’t hear him mention--’ ‘Now that’s queer--nothin’ about a man not bein’ able to wash his hands?’ ‘No,’ said Elbert, more mystified. ‘Can’t be it’s dyin’ out of him,’ Mr. Cotton mused, eyes rigid on the flanks of his team, as they wound up a canyon trail. ‘But that ain’t the kind of thing as dies out,’ he added. At Slim Stake Camp, where the road ended, Mr. Cotton excused himself to write a note to Mr. Leadley, which Elbert was asked to deliver. ‘And don’t let him fill you up none on how bad he’s treated Bart,’ was the last swift injunction. ‘I was along myself in them days and I didn’t miss all that was goin’ on.’ Elbert nodded attentively. ‘Remember what I say, when he starts tellin’ you about Red Ante!’ shouted Mr. Cotton, holding hard on his swerving team. A while after that Elbert was alone on the steep canyon trail, his ears cracking like drying wallpaper from the altitude, and his heart windily at work. Springs saturated the earth from time to time. There positively didn’t seem to be any last water, until the trail widened in mid-afternoon and there faced him: ‘ARE YOU DOOMED?’ White Stone Flats. He found the two pines that had lived through the fire--all straight, but no Mr. Leadley to meet him. He called a little, but the raising of his voice left him queerly uneasy. There was food in his roll, and he finally spread his blankets and stretched out for the night. The idea struck him that he must soon get back to work, for it seemed like ten days already. Mr. Leadley must have forgotten the date. Up here anything was possible. Hours after, a white glare through the eastern trees and a tardy, bulging moon showed up; then quite the most curdling wail sounded through the whitish night. It was ‘doggy’ in depth and volume, but the wauling of it was like a greatly enlarged cat. Now Elbert had an opportunity to study the stuff he was made of. He wasn’t encouraged. His heart was knocking to get out. Nothing short of a mountain lion made that noise.