The man who built the round-pole corral in the lonely canyon is dead. He owned sheep, they say, and made the corral to suit his convenience and their comfort, because a spring was close by, near the top of the tiny knoll that rose like a bald head peering out from the canyon wall, with the corral circling it brow like in unkempt crown. In the years after the sheepman had lived and died and gone his way, men still sought the quiet canyon and the spring beside the gate of the round-pole corral; slept there in peace and rode on seeking fortune or safety or happiness, each after his own kind.