Up the meadow, from the direction of the foothills, a scarred and thin collie was driving a bunch of thinner and leg-weary sheep. All day and at a racking pace Treve had driven them; giving them no semblance of rest; keeping them at a gallop whenever he could urge their tired legs into such violent action. Now, at sight of Mack, the collie left his detested charges to the oncoming Toni; and galloped ecstatically up to Royce; leaping on the dumbfounded man and licking his hands and making the icy air reëcho with his rapture-barks. While master and dog were greeting each other, Toni counted the sheep and made report to Fenno. “Where--where the blue blazes have you been, old friend?” Mack was demanding of the excited dog. “And where’d you lose all that flesh and get all those scars? You poor boy! Where you been?” “Huh!” scoffed Joel, blowing his nose and forcing his shaky voice to its wonted growl of complaint. “Best ask him what he done with that other sheep. There was forty-eight of ’em, when him and them disappeared. There’s only forty-seven now. I’m wonderin’--” “I’m wondering, too!” flared the indignant Royce, pausing in the petting of Treve, to whirl angrily on his partner. “I’m wondering what’d happen if some one should return a thousand-dollar roll of banknotes to you, that you’d lost. I’m wondering what you’d say to him. No, I’m not wondering, either. I _know_. You’d say: ‘What became of the nice rubber band that used to be fastened around this roll?’ Gee, but you’re a grateful soul, partner! Lost forty-eight sheep; and Treve pretty near gets himself scarred and starved to death getting ’em back for you! And all you do is to kick because one of ’em’s lost!” He strode contemptuously into the house, whistling the collie to follow. But Joel Fenno surreptitiously laid a detaining hand on Treve’s neck. “Trevy,” he cooed, hoarsely, bending low over the happy dog and petting him with clumsy fervor, “I--I reckon _you_ understand, don’t you? Lord, but I’ve missed you!” CHAPTER IV: THE KILLER The rainy season was coming to an end--the season as nastily disagreeable as it was needful. Spring was at hand. And the folk on the Dos Hermanos ranch rejoiced almost as much as did their thousands of chronically damp sheep and their soggy acres of mud-tormented range land. To Treve the winter had passed pleasantly enough. He had had more time for cross-country rambles and for jack rabbit chasing than was at his command during the year’s three other and busier seasons. The soaking rains bothered him not at all. True, his mighty outer coat was often drenched and flattened by the wet. But the queerly woven and downy mist-hued undercoat served him as well as could any mackintosh. It was waterproof and all but coldproof.