Dark had fallen, hours agone, when the bark of a collie came to Mack, on his plodding ride. Then there was a scurry of padded feet; and Treve was leaping and barking about Royce’s pony. From a mile to one side of Mack’s line of march, the night breeze had brought the collie his master’s scent. He had galloped to intercept him and to guide him to where a half-delirious old man lay sprawled out on a hot rock. At sight of the rescuer, Joel Fenno tensed his muscles and forced his face into its wonted sour grimness. But he could not keep his delirium-tickled tongue from babbling. “Say!” he grunted, before Mack could speak. “We’ll keep Treve, if you’re so set on keepin’ him. Not that he’s reely wuth keepin’--except maybe sometimes. Let him stay on at Dos Hermanos, if you like. He’s--he’s only part collie, though. He’s got some of the breedin’ of--of the ravens that fed Elijah. Let him stay with us. I don’t mind, so long as he don’t eat too much.... Now quit gawpin’ like a fool; and help get me to a doctor! Why, that collie’s got more sense than what you’ve got. Besides, he’s--he’s sure one grand water-dog!” CHAPTER III: MAROONED! All through the parchingly dry summer the sheep of the Dos Hermanos ranch had pastured on the upper slopes of the Peaks; far above the rainless and baking valley where the verdure was dead and where the short grass would not come to life again until late autumn should usher in the brief rainy season. Here on the government grazing land of the lofty mountainsides there was good pasturage. Here, too, as far up as the end of the timber line, there was shade and there were tempered heat of day and coolness of nights; and there were brooks and springs and pools of cold water. For a mere handful of dollars, paid to the government, the Dos Hermanos ranch partners and many another denizen of the valley could graze their sheep at will among the upland meadows and gorges. Young Royce Mack and old Joel Fenno still kept their headquarters at the lowland ranch house during the hot spell, one or both of them riding up, weekly, into the cooler hill country to inspect the flocks and to see that their three shepherds were taking best advantage of the successive grass stretches. When it was Royce Mack’s turn to make this periodic tour of the mountain pastures, he always took with him the tawny-gold young collie, Treve. This companionship meant much to both dog and man. For the two were still inseparable chums.