He remembered the days when he had compromised with his work, had ridden to a certain pinnacle that commanded a wide view of the range, and had looked out over the country from the top—­and had hurried back to the niche to work on the airplane, calling his duty to the Rolling R done for that day.  He might better have stolen those horses himself, Johnny thought.  He would at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he had accomplished what he had set out to do; he would not have to bear this sickening feeling of failure along with his guilt.

But staring at the horses the thieves had left would not bring back the ones they had stolen, so Johnny rode back to camp, caught the gentlest of his two bronks and turned Sandy loose in the pasture.  He had formed the habit of riding over to the airplane before he cooked his supper; sometimes eating with Bland so that he might the longer gaze upon his treasure.  But to-night he neither rode to the niche nor cooked supper.  He did not want to eat, and he did not want to see his airplane, that had tempted him to such criminal carelessness.

The telephone called him, and Johnny went dismally to answer.  It was old Sudden, of course; the full, smooth voice that could speak harsh commands or criticisms and make them sound like pleasantries.  Johnny thought the voice was a little smoother, a little fuller than usual.

“Hello.  The boys tell me that they had quite a lot of—­excitement—­this morning when they were rounding up a bunch of horses.  An aeroplane swooped down on them with—­er—­somewhat unpleasant results.  Yes.  The horses stampeded, and—­er—­the boys were compelled to do some hard riding.  Yes.  Tex was thrown—­that makes two of the boys that are laid up for repairs.  They haven’t succeeded in gathering the horses so far.  Know anything about it, Johnny?”

“Yes, sir.”  Johnny’s voice was apathetic.  What did a little thing like a stampede amount to, in the face of what Sudden had yet to hear?

“Oh, you do?” Sudden was plainly expectant.  He did not, however, sound particularly reassuring.  “Where did that aeroplane come from?  Do you know?”

“Yes, sir.  It’s one I—­salvaged from Mexico.  I—­was trying it out.”

“Oh.  You were?  Trying it out on the stock.  Well, I don’t believe I care to work my stock with flying machines.  Aviators—­come high.  I prefer just plain, old-fashioned riders.”

He paused, quite evidently waiting to hear what Johnny had to say.  But Johnny did not seem to have anything at all to say, so Sudden spoke again.

“How about the horses down at Sinkhole?  Are they broken to aeroplane herding, or have they all stampeded like these up here?”

Here was escape, reprieve, an excuse that might save him.  Johnny hesitated just long enough to draw his breath deeply, as a man does before diving into cold water.