It was there at the fence he first wished he had fallen and broken his neck.
He turned back, rode until he had located a bunch of horses, made a rough count, and went on, heavy-hearted, steeped in self-condemnation.

He located other horses, scattered here and there in little groups, and kept a mental tally of their numbers.

Now, while the sun dipped low toward the western hills, he watched this last herd dismally, knowing how completely he had failed in his trust.
Square with his boss! He, Johnny Jewel, had presumed to prate of it that day, with half the horses stolen from Sinkhole.

For so did conscience magnify the catastrophe.

He had dared to assume that his presence there at Sinkhole was necessary to the welfare of the Rolling R! Johnny laughed, but tears would have been less bitter than his laughter.
He had been proud of himself, arrogantly sure of his ability, his nerve, his general superiority.