And the range seemed bent on making a secret of it, also. Dad had gone hot-foot on Joan's horse to seek Earl Reid and learn the truth of it, only to ride in vain over the range where Mackenzie's flock grazed. Reid was not in camp; the sheep were running unshepherded upon the hills. Now, Joan, heading back to her camp at dusk of the longest, heaviest, darkest day she ever had known, met Reid as she rode away from Dad Frazer's wagon, and started out of her brooding to hasten forward and question him. "How did it happen--who did it?" she inquired, riding up breathlessly where Reid lounged on his horse at the top of the hill waiting for her to come to him. "Happen? What happen?" said Reid, affecting surprise. "Mr. Mackenzie--surely you must know something about it--he's nearly killed!" "Oh, Mackenzie." Reid spoke indifferently, tossing away his cigarette, laughing a little as he shaped the shepherd's name. "Mackenzie had a little trouble with Swan Carlson, but this time he didn't land his lucky blow." "I thought you knew all about it," Joan said, sweeping him a scornful, accusing look. "I had you sized up about that way!" "Sure, I know all about it, Joan," Reid said, but with a gentle sadness in his soft voice that seemed to express his pity for the unlucky man. "I happened to be away when it started, but I got there--well, I got there, anyhow." Joan's eyes were still severe, but a question grew in them as she faced him, looking at him searchingly, as if to read what it was he hid. "Where have you been all day? Dad's been looking high and low for you." "I guess I was over at Carlson's when the old snoozer came," Reid told her, easy and careless, confident and open, in his manner. "Carlson's? What business could you----" "Didn't he tell you about it, Joan?" "Who, Dad?" "Mackenzie." "He hasn't spoken since he stumbled into Dad's camp last night. He's going to die!" "Oh, not that bad, Joan?" Reid jerked his horse about with quick hand as he spoke, making as if to start down at once to the camp where the wounded schoolmaster lay. "Why, he walked off yesterday afternoon like he wasn't hurt much. Unconscious?" Joan nodded, a feeling in her throat as if she choked on cold tears. "I didn't think he got much of a jolt when Swan took his gun away from him and soaked him over the head with it," said Reid, regretfully. "You were there, and you let him do it!" Joan felt that she disparaged Mackenzie with the accusation as soon as the hasty words fell from her tongue, but biting the lips would not bring them back. "He needs _somebody_ around with him, but I can't be right beside him all the time, Joan." "Oh, I don't mean--I didn't--I guess he's able to take care of himself if they give him a show. If you saw it, you can tell me how it happened." "I'll ride along with you," Reid offered; "I can't do him any good by going down to see him. Anybody gone for a doctor?"