Following out his orders he rode his part of the range with alertness, and decided to explore the more remote southwestern angle of the ranch. Doc had left him an hour before to search the range nearer Eagle and would not be back again until time to return to the ranch house for the night. This was against Meeker's orders, for they had been told to keep together for their own protection, but they had agreed that there was little risk and that it would be better to separate and cover more ground.

The day was bright and, with the exception of the heat, all he could desire. His spirits bubbled over in snatches of song as he cantered hither and yon, but all the time moving in the general direction of the little-ridden territory. On all sides stretched the same monotonous view, sage brush, mesquite, cactus, scattered tufts of grass, and the brown plain, endless, flat, wearying.

The surroundings did not depress him, but only gradually slowed the exultant surge of his blood and, as he hummed at random, an old favorite came to him out of the past, and he sung it joyously:

My taste is that of an aristocrat,
My purse that of a pauper:
I scorn the gold her parents hold—
But shore I love their daughter.
Hey de diddle de, hey de dee,
But shore I love their daughter.

When silvery nights my courting light
An' souls of flowers wander,
Then who's to blame if I loved th' game
An' did not pause to ponder?
Hey de diddle de, hey de dee,
An' did not pause to ponder.

Her eyes are blue, an' oh, so true—
Th' words were said ere thought, Lad.
Her father swore we'd meet no more—
But I am not distraught, Lad.
Hey de diddle de, hey de de—
But I am not distraught, Lad.

He ceased abruptly, rigidly erect, staring straight ahead as the significance of the well trodden trail impressed itself on his mind. He was close to the edge of a steep-walled basin; and leading to it was a narrow, steep gully, down which the beaten trail went. Riding closer he saw that two poles were set close to the wall of the gully, and from one of them dangled a short, frayed hempen rope. There was a water hole in the basin, surrounded by a muddy flat, and everywhere were the tracks of cattle.

As he hesitated to decide whether or not it would be worth while to ride through the depression he chanced to look south, and the question decided itself. Spurring savagely, he leaned forward in the saddle, the wind playing a stern song in his ears, a call to battle for his ranch, his pride, and his hatred for foul work. He felt the peculiar, compelling delight, the surging, irresistible intoxication of his kind for fighting, the ecstasy of the blood lust, handed down from his Saxon forefathers.

A mile ahead of him was a small herd of cattle, being driven west by two men. Did he stop to return to the ranch for assistance? Did he count the odds? Not he, for he saw the perpetrators of the insults he and his companions had chafed under—the way was clear, the quarry plain, and he asked naught else.