Yes, Treve must go. And Chang prayed fervently and burned many scented papers. Then, hoping, yet doubting, the efficacy of his devotions, he went down again to his kitchen. Seldom is such immediate and complete answer vouchsafed to prayer-papers and Joss-genuflections as was granted to Chang. Scarcely had he been puttering around the kitchen for three minutes, when a car stopped at the gate and a fat man in fine raiment came striding up the walk. Chang was alone in the house. Neither of the partners could be expected to return until supper-time. The Chinaman desisted from his task of dishwashing; wiped his wet yellow arms on a drying flannel shirt of Joel’s, and shuffled forward to meet the stranger. Fraser Colt had come three hundred miles, to claim his collie. Recovering from his rough treatment at the hands of Fenno and at the teeth of Treve, at the Dos Hermanos dogshow, he had returned to the show, next day, only to learn that collie and rancher had departed. To trace them had been a simple enough matter. In the back of every show catalog are the names and addresses of the exhibitors. Thus, to locate the owner of Treve was the work of a minute. “_J. Fenno, c/o Dos Hermanos Ranch, Dos Hermanos County._” That was the line at the back of the book. And a score of people at La Cerra knew the exact location of the partners’ ranch. A telegram had called home the bitten and bruised Colt, on the second day of the show. And the business involved therein had kept him occupied for the next few months. But in the first lull of work, he prepared to get back the collie whose cash value would make worth while any trouble involved in the quest. By law, Treve belonged to Fraser Colt. Colt held the bill of sale whereby he had bought the dog, as an eight-month pup. He had lost him; and now had found him again. Any law-court on earth would uphold his claim to the collie’s ownership. So, with no fear of successful opposition he had come to the wilderness to recover his property. If Fenno should refuse, he could take the case to court and make the rancher not only give up the dog but pay trial costs. Several folk could swear to Treve’s identity as the collie bought by Colt. Then, when at last he should have the costly animal safe in his own kennel--well, it would be time to pay a little personal bill of his. At the thought, Colt was wont to glance at his bite-mangled hand and then swing his arm viciously; as though it already wielded a blood-flecked rawhide. Yes, there would be a sweet little hour of revenge for the way the dog had attacked him. “I want to see Fenno,” announced Colt, as the smiling Chang confronted him at the ranch house door. “Not in,” cooed the Chinaman. “And Mist’ Loyce Mack not in. Not in till sup’ time he come.” Colt did not reply at once. But neither did he depart. Instead, he stood surveying the Chinaman’s face, from between thoughtfully squinted lids.