The wide arc to south, east, and west revealed nothing to his searching eyes, except the dull brown of the slightly rolling plains, with no life apparent save some distant grazing antelope, but to the north extended more broken country with a faint glimmer of water between the hills.

Satisfied they were unobserved, he slid back again into the depression.

As he turned to lie down he took hold of the saddle belonging to Hawley's horse.

In the unbuckled holster his eye observed the glimmer of a bit of white paper.
He drew it forth, and gazed at it unthinkingly.

It was an envelope, robbed of its contents, evidently not sent through the mails as it had not been stamped, but across its face was plainly written, "Miss Christie Maclaire." He stared at it, his lips firm set, his gray eyes darkening.