"Here's your elk tracks." McKinney, foreman on Carrizoso, was an old range-rider, and he was right.

Here was the track, plunging through the snow, and here was a deep hole where an elk, or something, had digged hurriedly, deeply, and, as it proved, effectively.
"Elk!" said McKinney again, savagely.

"Damn that cow puncher! He took to his horse, 'course he did, and not one of us thought of ridin'.
Who'd ever think a man would ride up here at all, let alone at night?
Come on, fellers, we might as well go home." "Well, I'm pleased to have met you, gentlemen," said Anderson, lighting a philosophic pipe, "and I don't mind walking back with you.

It's a trifle lonesome in the hills after dark.

Why didn't you tell me you were coming up ?" He grinned with what seemed to us bad taste.
When we got down across the foot-hills and into the broad white street of Heart's Desire, we espied a dark figure slowly approaching.