Matt Sabre's roan headed up Shirt Tail Creek, crossed Bloody Basin and Skeleton Ridge and made the Verde in the vicinity of the hot springs.  He bedded down that night in a corner of a cliff near Hardscrabble Creek.  It was late when he turned in, and he had lighted no fire.

He had chosen his position well, for behind him the cliff towered, and on his left there was a steep hillside that sloped away toward Hardscrabble Creek.  He was almost at the foot of Hardscrabble Mesa, with the rising ground of Deadman Mesa before him.  The ground in front sloped away to the creek, and there was plenty of dry wood.  The overhang of the cliff protected it from the rain.

Matt Sabre came suddenly awake. For an instant, he lay very still.  The sky had cleared, and as he lay on his side he could see the stars.  He judged that it was past midnight.  Why he had awakened he could not guess, but he saw that the roan was nearer, and the big gelding had his head up and ears pricked.

"Careful, boy!" Sabre warned.

Sliding out of his bed roll he drew on his boots and got to his feet.  Feeling out in the darkness, he drew his Winchester near.

He was sitting in absolute blackness due to the cliff's overhang.  He knew the boulders and the clumps of cedar were added concealment.  The roan would be lost against the blackness of the cliff, but from where he sat he could see some thirty yards of the creek bank and some open ground.

There was subdued movement below and whispering voices.  Then silence.  Leaving his rifle, Sabre belted on his guns and slid quietly out of the overhang and into the cedars.

After a moment, he heard the sound of movement, and then a low voice: "He can't be far!  They said he came this way, and he left the main trail after Fossil Creek."

There were two of them.  He waited, standing there among the cedars, his eyes hard and his muscles poised and ready.  They were fools.  Did they think he was that easy?