ning he returns
again; disappears into the bush again; and, with daylight, rides off
again. Day after day this curious coming and going continues without
any apparent object, unless it be that the man has no place but the
skeleton bush in which to rest. And with each coming and going the
man rides slower, he lounges wearily in his saddle, and before the end
of a week looks a mere spectre of the man who first rode into the
bluff. Starvation is in the emaciated features, the brilliant feverish
eyes. His horse, too, appears little better.

At length one evening he enters the bush, and the following dawn fails
to witness his departure. All that day there is the faint sound of a
horse moving about amongst the trees with that limping gait which
denotes the application of a knee-halter. But the man makes no sound.

As night comes on a solitary figure may be seen seated on a horse at a
point which is sheltered from the trail by a screen of bushes. The man
sits still, silent, but drooping. His tall gaunt frame is bent almost
double over the horn of his saddle in his weakness. The horse's head
is hanging heavy with sleep, but the man's great, wild eyes are wide
open and alight with burning eagerness. The horse sleeps and
frequently has to be awakened by its rider as it stumbles beneath its
burden; but the man is as wakeful as the night-owl seeking its prey,
and the grim set of his wasted face implies a purpose no less
ruthless.

At dawn the position is unchanged. The man still droops over his
saddle-horn, a little lower perhaps, but his general attitude is the
same. As the daylight shoots athwart the horizon and lightens the
darkness of the bush to a gray twilight the horse raises his head and
pricks up his ears. The man's eyes glance swiftly toward the south and
his alertness is intensified.

Now the soft rustle of flurrying snow becomes audible, and the muffled
pounding of a horse's hoofs can be heard upon the trail. The look that
leaps into the waiting man's eyes tells plainly that this is what he
has so patiently awaited, that here, at last, is the key to his lonely
vigil. He draws his horse back further into the bushes and his hand
moves swiftly to one of the holsters upon his hips. His thin, drawn
features are sternly set, and the sunken eyes are lit with a deep,
hard light.

Daylight broadens and reveals the barren surroundings; the sound draws
nearer. The silent horseman grips his gun and lays it across his lap
wit