n when Bear Cat had given his pledge to Blossom he had
always carried a flask in his pocket. He had done so in order that his
fight should be one without any sort of evasion of issues: in order
that the thirst should be met squarely and that whenever or wherever it
attacked him he would have to face and conquer it with the knowledge
that drink was at hand.

Now he felt for that flask and found that in the melee it had been
shattered.

Rough and almost perpendicular leagues intervened between here and
Brother Fulkerson's and there must immediately be some administration
of first aid. The instinct of second nature came to Bear Cat's aid as
he groped for his bearings.

Over this hill, a half mile through the "roughs," unless it had been
moved of late, lay Dog Tate's blockade still. Slipping back of his
saddle, onto the flanks of his mount, Turner lowered Henderson until he
hung limp after the fashion of a meal-sack between cantle and pommel.
He himself slid experimentally to the ground, supporting himself
against the horse while he tested his legs. He could still stand--but
could he carry a man as heavy as himself?

"A man kin do whatsoever he's obleeged ter do," he grimly told himself.
"This hyar's a task I'm plumb decreed ter finish."

The fever had temporarily subsided. His brain felt preternaturally
clarified by the contrast, but the hinges of his knees seemed frail and
collapsible.

He hitched the horse, and hefting the insensible man in his arms,
staggered blindly into the timber.

Dog's place was hedged about with the discouragement of thickets as
arduous as a _cheval de frise_, but Bear Cat's feet groped along the
blind path with a surety that survived from a life of wood-craft. Once
he fell, sprawling, and it was a little while before he could conquer
the nausea of pain sufficiently to rise, gather up his weighty burden,
and stumble on again.

"I'll hev abundant time ter lay down an' die ter-morrow," he growled
between the clamped jaws that were unconsciously biting the blood out
of his tongue. "But I've got ter endure a spell yit--I hain't quite
finished my job."

At last he lifted his voice and called guardedly out of the thickets.
"This is Bear Cat Stacy--I'm bad wounded an' I seeks succor!"

There was no reply, but shortly he defined a shadow stealing cautiously
toward him and Dog Tate stood close, peering through the sooty dark
with amazement welling in his eyes.

The gorge which Dog had chosen