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moved forward for maybe a half-hour before McShannon, all of whose senses were acute, stopped and said softly: “House up ahead. I can hear the creek.”
    McAllister stopped and listened. He could hear nothing. They went on a little further and he saw the glimmer of a light.
    â€œSomebody still up,” he said. “Must be Markham.”
    They tied their horses in a motte of trees. McAllister unbuckled his gun-belt and hung it over the apple. McShannon hesitated a moment, then followed suit. That left them armed only with their knives. McAllister took down his rope and several shorter lengths of rope he had on his saddle. Then they moved off.
    McAllister led the way through the starlight till they reached the eastern end of the main corral. Here, he knew, were the horses Markham set such great store by. In the corral on the other side of the house were the ordinary saddle stock.
    â€œBoy,” he said, “you stay here and let these horses get used to you bein’ around. We’ll catch up a pair of ’em by an’ by. You hear a ruckus over by the house, you mount up, ride to our horses, get your own and vamoose. Don’t wait around for me.”
    McShannon knew better than to ask what McAllister planned to do.
    McAllister slapped him lightly on the shoulder and walked off into the night. He went quietly around the first bunkhouse, reached the door and went to one knee. One short length of rope he stretched and tied across the door about six inches from the ground. Then he went around the edge of the yard, keeping to the shadows, and tied a second rope across the entrance to the stoop. That done, he went around to the other side of the yard where the second bunkhouse stood and tied a third rope across the doorway. Satisfied, he walked to the corral that held the saddle stock and pulled out the gate poles.
    He walked back to McShannon and said: “Get in there an’ catch yourself a horse.”
    McShannon climbed the fence and built a noose with his rope. The whole place was still silent. McAllister, knowing that the gate was over by the bunkhouse, decided that it was too risky to let the horses out that way. He drew his knife and cut the rawhide thongs that helped keep the fence together. The rawhide gave easily under the razor-sharp blade, he lifted the posts down and worked his way along the fence, repeating the operation. When about twenty feet of fence was down, he walked into the corral.
    The horses were starting to get lively. Dimly, he could see McShannon dabbing his rope on his chosen mount. The rest of the animals started to run. McAllister built a noose as they pounded toward him. Dust rose and teased his nostrils. A dark animal swung around near him, he flicked out his noose over its head and choked it down violently. There was no time for finesse. The rest of the remuda swept past him making a noise like thunder. It would be a matter of seconds before the bunk-houses and the house erupted. He ran down his taut rope, got a grip on the horse’s coarse mane and vaulted aboard. The animal exploded, crowhopping violently across the hard ground of the corral. McAllister kicked it in the slats with his heels and yelled defiance to the night. McShannon followed suit.
    The remuda went around the corral once, then discovered the wide break in the fence. With tossing manes, they took off into the night with two yelling demons after them.

7
    Markham couldn’t sleep. He had prowled his office since before midnight and had killed a bottle of whiskey in the process. It was a habit that was becoming more common with him. This inability to sleep puzzled and infuriated him. Men might obey him docilely, but sleep defied him. The night wascold, but he felt nothing of it, soaked as he was with liquor. Finally, he dropped into his chair at his desk and started to doze.
    He came awake abruptly when he heard the horses running. Starting, he got unsteadily to his feet and listened. To his