rrived, to laugh at his fears. Nevertheless he
rode slowly, watching the trail carefully, searching the little gullies
and peering into every shadow for fear that Hollis had been injured in
some accident and might be lying near unable to make his presence known.

The dawn was just showing above the horizon when he rode up to the
ranchhouse to find Potter standing on the porch--apparently not having
left there during his absence. Beside Potter stood Ed Hazelton, and near
the latter a drooping pony, showing signs of hard riding.

Norton passed the corral gate and rode up to the two men. A glance at
their faces told him that something had gone wrong. But before he could
speak the question that had formed on his lips Hazelton spoke.

"They got him, Norton," he said slowly.

"Dead?" queried Norton sharply, his lips straightening.

"No," returned Hazelton gloomily; "he ain't dead. But when I found him
he wasn't far from it. Herd-rode him, the damned sneaks! Beat him up
so's his own mother wouldn't know him!"

"Wait!" commanded Norton. "I'm going with you. I suppose you've got him
over to your shack?" He caught Hazelton's nod and issued an order to
Potter. "Go down to the bunkhouse and get Weary out. Tell him to hit the
breeze to Cimarron for the doctor. If the doc' don't want to come drag
him by the ears!"

He spurred his pony furiously to the corral gate and in a short time had
saddled another horse and was back where Hazelton was awaiting him.
Without speaking a word to each other the two men rode rapidly down the
Coyote trail, while Potter, following directions, his face haggard and
drawn from loss of sleep and worry, hurried to the bunkhouse to arouse
Weary and send him on his long journey to Cimarron.

CHAPTER XII

AFTER THE STORM

Hollis's tall figure lay pitifully slack on a bed in the Hazelton cabin.
Nellie Hazelton had given him what care she could out of her limited
knowledge and now nothing more could be done until the arrival of the
Cimarron doctor. Swathed in bandages, his clothing torn and soiled--as
though after beating him his assailants had dragged him through the
mud--one hand queerly twisted, his face swollen, his whole great body
looking as though it had received the maximum of injury, Hollis moved
restlessly on the bed, his head rolling oddly from side to side,
incoherent words issuing from between his bruised and swollen lips.

Norton stood beside the bed, looking down at the injured