Corliss, early afoot, found him curled at the front door of the ranch-house. Chance braced himself on his fore legs and yawned. Then stretching he rose and, frisking about Corliss, tried to make himself understood. Corliss glanced toward the corral, half expecting to see Sundown's horse. Then he stepped to the men's quarters. He greeted Wingle, asking him if Sundown had returned. "No. Thought he went east." "Chance came back, alone." And Corliss and the cook eyed each other simultaneously and nodded. "Loring," said Wingle. "Guess you're right, Hi." "Sheriff must 'a' been out of town and got back just in time to meet up with Sundown," suggested Wingle. And he seized a scoop and dug into the flour barrel. An hour later the buckboard stood at the ranch gate. Bud Shoop, crooning a range-ditty that has not as yet disgraced an anthology, stood flicking the rear wheel with his whip:-- "Oh, that biscuit-shooter on the Santa Fe, --Hot coffee, ham-and-eggs, huckleberry pies,-- Got every lonely puncher that went down that way With her yella-bird hair and them big blue eyes . . . "For a two-bit feed and a two-bit smile . . ." The song was interrupted by the appearance of Corliss, who swung to the seat and took the reins. "I'll jog 'em for a while," he said as Shoop climbed beside him. "Go ahead, Bud. Don't mind me." Shoop laughed and gestured over his shoulder. "Chance, there, is sleepin' with both fists this lovely mornin'. Wonder how Sun is makin' it?" "We'll find out," said Corliss, shaking his head. "Believe us! For we're goin' to town! Say, ain't you kind of offerin' Jim Banks a chance to get you easy?" "If he wants to. If he locked Sundown up, he made the wrong move." "It's easy!" said Shoop, gesturing toward the Loring rancho as they passed. "Goin' to bush at the water-hole to-night?" "No. We'll go through." Shoop whistled. "Suits me! And I reckon the team is good for it." He glanced sideways at Corliss, who sat with eyes fixed straight ahead. The cattle-man's face was expressionless. He was thinking hard and fast, but chose to mask it. Suddenly Shoop, who had watched him some little time, burst into song. "Suits me!" he reiterated, more or less ambiguously, by the way, for he had just concluded another ornate stanza of the "Biscuit-shooter" lyric. "It's a real song," remarked Corliss. "Well, now!" exclaimed Shoop. And thereafter he also became silent, knowing from experience that when Corliss had anything worth while to say, he would say it. About noon they reached the water-hole where Corliss spent some time examining the fences and inspecting the outbuildings. "She's in right good shape yet," commented Shoop. "The title has reverted to the State. It's queer Loring hasn't tried to file on it." "Mebby he's used his homestead right a'ready," suggested Shoop. "But Nell Loring could file."