"He
heap good fighter. He speak truth. He keep word. He a big chief. He die
for Apache. Let Apache carry 'em home."

The doctor looked inquiringly at Jim who nodded.

"I'll go on down to his house and get things ready for him," said the
doctor and he drove off.

Jim and Penelope stood back. The four Indians bearing the stretcher
followed after Suma-theek and in a long single line the remaining
Apaches followed, joining Suma-theek in the death chant which is the
very soul cry of the desolate:

"Ai! Ai! Ai! Beloved!
"Ai! Ai! Ai! Beloved!"

Down the winding road in a world all liquid gold from the setting sun,
past the great shadow of the brooding elephant, past the cable towers
and the engine house where the workmen stared, motionless and aghast,
into the twilight of the valley where the electric lights flared, the
chanting Indians carried the old shedder of bullets and laid him on his
bed.

The camp was very silent that night. The Mexicans had feared and
respected the little Superintendent. They had shared with the Indians
the belief that the Little Boss could not be killed. The remains of the
old Makon Pack were openly grief-stricken and told half-whispered
stories of Iron Skull's prowess in the old days of tunnel building. The
camp was smitten with awe at this sudden withdrawal. Sudden death was
the rule on the Projects, yet it always left the camp breathless with
surprise. The little community of twelve hundred souls, so isolated, so
close to the primeval despite its electric lights, suddenly felt utterly
alone and helpless.

Close after eight o'clock Jim dashed out of his house as if a voice had
called him. He dropped down the steep trail to the canyon, crossed the
canyon and took the steep trail up the Elephant's side. It was a sharp
lift but Jim's long legs took it easily. When he reached the Elephant's
top he crossed the broad back to a heap of bowlders and threw himself
down in their shelter.

It was a moonlit night. Silver lay the desert with the black scratch of
old Jezebel across it and the ragged purple shadows of the ranges to the
east. Jim sat, chin in palm, elbow on knee, eyes wide on the soft wonder
of the night. It always seemed to him that the desert night freed him of
time and space and set him close to the Master Dream. He had learned to
take his grief and his despairs to the desert mountain tops.

He had sat for an hour going over his life and his friendship with Iron
Skull when