One dejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral.

Strange indeed was the silence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of Jane Withersteen's pets.
He went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led the burro to the watering-trough.

Venters, though not thirsty, drank till he could drink no more.

Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struck into the sage and down the slope.
He strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope for riders.

His head just topped the level of sage-brush, and the burro could not have been seen at all.