Gary cupped his hands around his mouth to reply, then hesitated and dropped them to his side. He turned to go in for the lantern and abandoned that idea also. On that first night he had answered repeatedly the call and had searched gropingly amongst the bowlders and ledges. His trouble had gone for nothing, and Gary could think of but one reason why he had failed to find the man: he believed the man had not wanted to be found, although there was no sense in that either. The stubborn streak in Gary dominated his actions now. He meant to find the fellow and have it out with him. He remembered Monty’s remark about Waddell imagining he heard things, and selling out in a hurry, his nerves gone to pieces. Probably the man up on the bluff could explain why Waddell left Johnnywater! Gary crossed the creek during spurts of lightning, and made his way cautiously up the bluff. After spending a long forenoon there he knew his way fairly well and could negotiate ledges that had stopped him that first night. He went carefully, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The voice kept shouting, with now and then a high note that almost amounted to a shriek. The storm broke, and Gary was drenched to the skin within five minutes. Flashes of lightning blinded him. He stumbled back down the bluff and reached the cabin, the storm beating upon him furiously. As he closed the door, the voice on the bluff shrieked at him, and Gary thought there was a mocking note in the call. CHAPTER NINE GARY WRITES A LETTER “Johnnywater Cañon. “Dear Pat: “I take it all back. There’s a new model of cow called Walking X, that don’t need grass. It has a special food-saving device somewhere in its anatomy, which enables it to subsist on mountain scenery, sagebrush and hopes. I haven’t discovered yet whether the late model of Walking X chews a cud or merely rolls a rock under its tongue to prevent thirst. I’m guessing it’s the rock. There’s darned little material for cuds in the country. If I were going to stay here and make you a cattle queen, I should ask you to get prices on gum in carload lots. “Yesterday I was hiking out on the desert--for exercise, my dear girl. Can’t afford to grow flabby muscled as well as flabby souled. Souls don’t register on the screen anyway--but it takes muscle to throw the big heavy around in the blood-curdling scrap which occurs usually in the fourth reel. Besides, I’m going to throw a fellow down the bluff--when I get him located. Don’t know how big he is, as I haven’t met the gentleman yet. It’s a cinch he hasn’t got lung trouble though; he’s the longest-winded cuss I ever heard holler.