"They're toatin' something on their shoulders," said Pete, with a shiver. It was as if there had been an accident, and men were carrying someone to the hospital. Pete had seen more than one carried. He turned a little sick. Was Cultus riding for the doctor? Was there anyone the old devil would have ridden to help? "When he wasn't pahtlum he was very fond of Mary," said Pete shivering. He started to walk fast and faster still. Now the melancholy procession was hidden behind a little rise. He knew they were still coming, for a bunch of steers on a low butte were staring with their heads all in one direction. Pete ran. Then he saw the bearers of the burden top the hill and descend towards him. His keen eyes told him now that they were carrying someone on a litter shoulder high. He knew the foremost men: one was Bill Baker of Nikola Ranche, another was Joe Batt, and yet another Kamloops Harry, a Siwash. He named the others, too. And some knew him. Pete saw that they stopped and spoke, turning their heads to those in the rear. One of the men, it was Simpson of Cherry Creek, came on foot in front of the others. Pete watched his face. It was very solemn and constrained. He nodded to Pete when he was within twenty yards. When he came up he put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "We're takin' your sister to Kamloops, Pete," said Simpson. Pete stared at him. "Mary?" he asked. Simpson nodded and answered Pete's wordless question. "No, she ain't dead----" Pete turned towards Kamloops. "Ole Cultus passed ridin' lik' hell, Mr. Simpson." The procession halted within a few yards. "Damn him," said Simpson, "he's cut the poor gal to pieces with a shovel." XV They said to Pete-- "Come into Kamloops with us." Pete shook his head and said nothing. But his eyes burned. Kamloops Charlie urged him to come with them, and talked fast in the Jargon. "You come, Pete, no one at the house now, Pete. By-by she want you. She often talk of you with me, want to see you." Charlie had worked for Cultus since Pete went away. "I come by-by," said Pete. They left him standing in the road. When some of them turned to look at him before they came where they would see him no more, he was still standing there. "Tell you Pete's dangerous," said Simpson. He was a long, thin melancholy man from Missouri, with a beard like grey moss on a decayed stump. "He'll hev' a long account with the Quin brothers," replied Joe Batt. "Many has," said Bill Baker. Cultus owed him money. Baker chewed tobacco and the cud. He muttered to himself, and the only audible word was "dangerous." Above his shoulder the hurt woman moaned. And even when they had disappeared Pete stood staring after them. They had time to go more than a mile before he stirred. Then he walked a little distance from the road and cached his bundle behind a big bull-pine. He started the way his sister had come, and went quick. He had seen some of his sister's blood on the road.