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he saw an old ram break free. His gun leaped out and he pulled, but the pistol was empty. He was about to hurl it at the ram when one of the dogs leaped into the air and knocked the animal end over end. In less than a minute the flock was flowing up the mountain !
    One of the dogs hung back and howled. Gault rode over to him, expecting to find a sheep with a broken leg. Even from his saddle he saw that there was something on the ground. He loaded his gun before he got down, intending to shoot the animal if it were badly hurt; but as he got to his knees and reached out to turn it over, his blood turned cold. The thing before him, half buried in the drifting sand, was the body of a man !
    It was still warm. Gault struck a light four or five times before he managed to get a glimpse of the man’s face.
    â€œKit Dorr !” he gasped as he recognized him. Gault’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he caught another look at the man before his match flared out. “Dead—! He’s shore dead!” he muttered. “God A’mighty, this is a-goin’ to be terrible bad for me, Kit! Hit shore is!”
    Gault got to his feet and stood looking down at the dead man, his head shaking wearily.
    â€œThey shore got me this time,” he drawled. “Folks all know we had words; and the wire cut; my sheep stampedin’ around, and one or two got through the fence, like as not—God A’mighty! Ain’t no man a-goin’ to believe I didn’t kill you, Kit; ain’t but one or two even a-goin’ to try to believe hit. Reckon things couldn’t be worse for me. And them who killed you is a-goin’ free; most likely they’ll never be caught. The law or the Circle-Z’ll git me, and that’ll be the end of hit.”
    Common sense told him he gained nothing by standing there, but the thought that there might be some way out of the net stayed him. He seemed to have lost the ability to think clearly. A dozen plans which suggested themselves were dismissed immediately. Not one of them held a possibility of success. What good would it do to hide Dorr’s body? He’d be missed, and the fence would tell its own story. Buckskin would be combed as soon as the storm was over.
    Gault even considered taking the body to the Cirde-Z; but such a course seemed hopeless.
    â€œThat would jest save my neck for the law,” he argued to himself; “an’ the law’s all stacked ag’in me. Ain’t no jury in Paradise would believe anythin’ I said.”
    His hand flashed to his gun as he heard a man call to another, off to his right. It was Egan calling to Tiny Mears.
    â€œI knew they wouldn’t be long a-comin’,” Gault muttered. “Ain’t nuthin’ for me to do but go. An’ I guess I’ll have to keep on a-goin’. They won’t take me alive!”

CHAPTER III.

FLIGHT.
    G AULT was a mile away by the time Race Eagan stumbled over Kit Dorr’s lifeless body. The storm showed no sign of abating. Gault mumbled his thanks for that. The storm was to his liking, now, erasing his trail almost instantly. His sheep were still ahead of him. He caught up with them in the next ten minutes. They were going along without causing the dogs any further trouble. Soon the trail began to swing around the mountain into the very teeth of the wind; for over half a mile, they were a fair target for the full force of the storm, and as they climbed higher and higher, it seemed that the gale must sweep them off their feet.
    To the right of the trail the mountain fell sheer to the floor of the valley. The sheep began to string out and hug the inside curve of the trail. Once or twice the dogs barked to hurry them on. Gault gave Pepper his head, but the horse could not keep up with the flock. In fact, he braced his body for every step he took and, although Gault had urgent need of haste, the horse was not to be pressed.
    The snail’s pace at which he