VII. THE POACHERS

 One morning, as he topped the rise between the sawmill and his own station, Cavanagh heard two rifle-shots in quick succession snapping across the high peak on his left. Bringing his horse to a stand, he unslung his field-glasses, and slowly and minutely swept the tawny slopes of Sheep Mountain from which the forbidden sounds seemed to come.

"A herder shooting coyotes," was his first thought; then remembering that there were no camps in that direction, and that a flock of mountain-sheep (which he had been guarding carefully) habitually fed round that grassy peak, his mind changed."I wonder if those fellows are after those sheep?" he mused, as he angled down the slope."I reckon it's up to me to see."

He was tired and hungry, a huge moraine lay between, and the trail was long and rough."To catch them in the act is impossible. However," he reflected,"they have but two trails along which to descend. One of these passes my door, and the other, a very difficult trail, leads down the South Fork. I'll have time to get breakfast and change horses. They'll probably wait till night before attempting to go out, anyway."

In less than three hours he was over on the trail in the canon, quite certain that the hunters were still above him. He rod