if he, too, had suffered the humiliation of a fall.
"I tried to jump an arroyo, the damn horse fell and rolled me," he explained, more vexed on account of his mishap, it seemed, than interested in what had gone forward without his help.
Barrett jerked the rifle from beneath the carcass of his horse, offering it for his employer's inspection with severe countenance.
"That was one hell of a gun to hang on a man!" he said, opening the magazine to show that it was unloaded.
Nearing took the gun, a curious look of cheapness on his face.
"I didn't intend for you to use it, just to carry it out to camp, Ed. It's Dale Findlay's gun; he sent it over to town to have a new breech block put in. I didn't know we'd run into anything like this, any more than you did."
"You knew there was a possibility of it," Barrett returned shortly.
"Well, you seemed to have a gun of your own stuck around on you somewhere, from the look of things, kid."
"It was tied up in my blankets, I had to rum from that lizard like a rabbit."
"Roll him over," Nearing ordered.
Barrett moved the body of the slain thief to reveal his face. Nearing rode nearer, and peered down into the dusty features.
"He's an outsider, I've never seen him on the range. See if he's got any papers on him."
