Vanamee's bed had not been disturbed for three nights.

On the Monday of that week he had passed the entire night in the garden of the Mission, overlooking the Seed ranch, in the little valley.

Tuesday evening had found him miles away from that spot, in a deep arroyo in the Sierra foothills to the eastward, while Wednesday he had slept in an abandoned 'dobe on Osterman's stock range, twenty miles from his resting place of the night before.
The fact of the matter was that the old restlessness had once more seized upon Vanamee.

Something began tugging at him; the spur of some unseen rider touched his flank.

The instinct of the wanderer woke and moved.