The man on the fence smoked a cigarette and studied the horses milling restlessly below him in the corral.
From the adobe cabin squatting in the moonlight came the shrill, insistent jingling of a bell.

The man looked that way thoughtfully, climbed down and went to the cabin, keeping carefully in the beaten trail.
The door was not locked.

A rawhide thong tied it fast to a staple in the door jamb.

With the bell shrilling its summons inside, the man paused long enough to study the knotting of the thong before he untied it and stepped inside.

He went to the telephone slowly, thoughtfully, his cigarette held between two fingers, his forehead drawn down so that his eyebrows were pinched together.