before the party reached the trail.

The thirst torture continued until the arrival at the pueblo. There
Slade at last gave drink to his prisoner and disclosed his purpose, with
a pretense of indignation.

"You ought to be strung up for trying to shoot me, Lennon. But I'm an
easy-going man--easy and forgiving. You only got to make out your report
and send for that twenty thousand. When it comes on, I'll let you go."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," replied Lennon, after he had drained the
last drop of water from the jar. "However, I am in no hurry to make my
report. I shall send it on and draw your half of the money--after you
have kept your bargain with regard to Cochise."

Slade deliberately drew his revolver and aimed it between Lennon's eyes.

"Just remember, your riding in the way you did was to set you to
thinking," he reminded. "This ain't no joke. Guess you'll agree now to
git started on that report, huh?"

Lennon smiled at the revolver and the still more menacing steel-white
eyes that glared at him along the barrel.

"Is it not time you set to thinking yourself, Slade?" he suggested.
"Alive, I am worth ten thousand dollars to you, as soon as you keep your
bargain. Dead, I would not be worth a penny to you or any one else."

The brick red of the trader's big face purpled and the hand that gripped
the revolver shook with the excess of his rage as he jammed the weapon
back into its holster.

"Wait," he said. "We'll see what Cochise can do to make you behave."

CHAPTER XVII

DEATH PLAY

Fresh horses were saddled, and Lennon was tied on as before. His last
hope of escape went glimmering. He realized that he had missed his one
chance when the party first reached the main trail, coming out of Dead
Hole.

To have attacked even then would have been a desperate undertaking--one
man against five. But he would have had at least a fighting chance. Now
he was unarmed and bound, unable even to shift in the saddle.

Slade set a hot pace that fast ate up the hard miles of the return
trail. But no pony could carry his massive weight as had the horse.
Before the main canon was reached, his mount began to flag. Only the
most merciless of rowelling could goad the jaded beast out of a jog
except for short spurts. In the descent to the canon the pony began to
stumble badly. But Slade held him up with an iron grip on the
jaw-breaking Spanish ring-bit.

The smooth canon bed was only a few yards below when, at t