erishly
when Lance came up to him. "I'm fixed, all right! I was dozing and I
didn't jump and he caught me when he fell. I guess his leg is broke,
but so is mine, fur's that goes. I come down hard on a rock and I
guess I broke some ribs or something. Hurt like hell for a few
hours--it ain't so bad now. Look out when you go to make him git
up--if he rolls on me it's all off. I guess it's all off, anyway, but
I don't want to be squashed to death."

Lance bit his lip. It was hard to hear the man talking, talking, in
that rapid, headlong fashion, while his leg lay under the full weight
of the black horse and the sun blazed on his uncovered head. It was
hard to see his shirt all blood-soaked on the left side where he had
fallen across an uptilted, thin-edged rock.

The horse, too, was in sorry state. A weed-grown crevice had cheated
him with its semblance to sound footing, and he lay with front leg
broken, groaning a little now and then while the man talked and
talked. And while he examined the two it seemed to Lance that Fate was
pointing, and saying that here, too, was one of the inscrutable
instruments by which he worked out the destinies of men. A slippery
rock, a man riding that way half asleep--

"I'll have to shoot this horse, I'm afraid," Lance said pityingly.
"His leg is broken--it's the most merciful thing I can do. And if I
try to lift him off you while he's alive he may struggle--"

"Sure thing! Go on and shoot him! I woulda done it myself if you
hadn't come along purty soon. I knowed it would be all off with us
both if we had to lay out all night, so I was going to finish us both
off, when I seen you. Thought I'd take a gambling chance till
dark--but the sun has been baking me to a crisp--"

"It's all right--I'll get you to a ranch. We'll fix you up, so don't
think about the finish." A little of the color had left Lance's face.
Shooting a horse was to him next thing to shooting a human. He had to
do it, though. There was no other way.

He took the horse by the cheek-piece of the bridle, spoke to him
gently, turned the head a little away from him so that the horse could
not look him in the eyes. "Poor old fellow, it's all I can do for
you," he muttered when he pulled his gun from the holster.

"Maybe you better do the same for me," said the man, still speaking in
the rapid tone which told of fever. "You ain't able to heave him off
me, are you?"

"Sure, I'm able to. Lie still, now, and grit your teeth, ol