"Then the shot we heard was the one that killed this man?" he asked.
"Yes. Pistol killed dog. Maybe we too far to hear shot."
"And you haven't any idea—what could have been the motive, the reason for killing him."
"Yes " The Indian paused and stared down at the still form.
"What do you think it was?" Hugh spoke very quietly.
"Big fight—over the range," Pete explained with difficulty. "This big cattle country—cattlemen always try to keep out sheep. Maybe other reasons too, but that began it. Always shooting—cattlemen and sheepmen. This first flock anywhere near—first in this part of Smoky Land."
"Then it was just cold-blooded murder."
"Yes. No signs of a fight. Maybe shot him through tent door, then tried to kill dogs. Killed one, wounded other. Now I cook supper."
The Indian, wholly without emotion, began to take stores from the dead herder's grub-box. He noted that the man's supplies seemed almost gone, only a few potatoes, a small piece of bacon in an oiled paper, and a little flour remaining. The guide saw his look of question and made explanation.
"Camp-tender come soon," he said.
"And who is the camp-tender?"
"Each sheep camp has two men. One herder.
