and fell again, its beautiful head dropping against its crimsoned breast.
"Wonder if I can get you home alive to Judith?" said Douglas.
After a moment of thought, he loosened his lariat, swung and roped the antelope around the horns, dragging it from its futile sanctuary. Then he dismounted and removed the lariat. The antelope bleated but lay trembling, making no attempt to rise. Douglas examined the shattered shoulder.
"You poor devil!" he said. "Even if you weren't hurt so badly, you'd die of fright before I could get you home. Well, of course I'm sorry venison is out of season, but a man must eat!" He put his gun to the delicate head, and an hour later Pard was snorting under a gunny-sack of venison. Douglas lighted a cigarette and, whistling gaily, started once more for camp.
But this, if not a day of what Lost Chief would call real adventure, was at least to be a day of episode. About mid-afternoon Doug heard the tinkle of a sheep-bell. He was not surprised, for he knew that he was well within sheep country. He followed the tinkle and came shortly to a wide draw where moved a mighty gray mass of sheep. The herder, on a bay horse, responded to Doug's halloo with a wave of his hand. Douglas made his way round the edge of the draw and waited for the herder, who rode slowly up to meet him. Then he stared at the stranger's gray-bearded face with the utmost surprise.
"Mr. Fowler!" he cried. "What are you doing out here?"
The older man, in shabby blue overalls and jumper, a black slouch hat pulled over his eyes, smiled grimly.
"You have the advantage of me, young man. I don't remember your face."
