bad hurt?"

The wounded man turned. "My laig's busted--two places. Plugged in the
side too."

Bob's heart sank. The face into which he looked was that of Jake Houck.
If he had only known in time! But it was too late now. He had to finish
what he had begun. He could not leave the fellow lying there.

He crawled to Houck. The big man gave directions. "Better drag me, I
reckon. Go as easy as you can on that busted laig."

Dillon took him beneath the arms and hauled him through the sand. The
wounded man set his teeth to keep back a groan. Very slowly and
carefully, an inch here, a foot there, Bob worked Houck's heavy body
backward. It was a long business. A dozen times he stopped to select the
next leg of the journey.

Beads of perspiration stood on Houck's forehead. He was in great pain,
but he clenched his teeth and said nothing. Bob could not deny him
gameness. Not a sound escaped his lips. He clung to his rifle even though
a free hand would greatly ease the jarring of the hurt leg.

Back of a scrub cottonwood Bob rested for a moment. "Not far now," he
said.

Houck's eyes measured the distance to the willows. "No," he agreed. "Not
far."

"Think maybe I could carry you," Bob suggested. "Get you on my
shoulder."

"Might try," the wounded man assented. "Laig hurts like sixty."

Bob helped him to his feet and from there to his shoulder. He staggered
over the rough ground to the willows. Into these he pushed, still
carrying Houck. As gently as he could he lowered the big fellow.

"Got me as I came over the bluff," the Brown's Park man explained. "I was
lucky at that. The Utes made a good gather that time. Outa four of us
they collected two an' put me out of business. Howcome they not to get
you?"

"Shot my horse," explained Bob. "I ducked into the willows."

It was hot in the willows. They were a young growth and the trees were
close. The sun beat down on the thicket of saplings and no breeze
penetrated it.

Houck panted. Already fever was beginning to burn him up.

"Hotter'n hell with the lid on," he grumbled. "Wisht I had some water."
He drew out a flask that still had two fingers of whiskey in it, but he
had resolution enough not to drink. This would not help him. "Reckon I
better not take it," he said regretfully.

Bob took the bandanna handkerchief from his throat and soaked one end of
it in the liquor. "Bathe yore head," he advised. "It'll cool it fine."

As the day grew older and the sun climbed t