ne for, Jim, old man. Clean."

Kendric found no word of answer. He turned away and went down to the
broken corrals where the man behind Zoraida had fallen. If the man
were not dead he might be induced to talk. And in any case, thief
though he was, he was a man and not a dog. He found the huddled body
lying still. Kneeling, he turned it over so that the wavering light
shone on the face. He did not know whether the man was dead or not; he
knew only that it was Twisty Barlow. He squatted there, looking from
the white face to the sky full of stars. And his thought was less on
the instant of Twisty Barlow than of Zoraida Castlemar.

"This is what she has done for two old friends," he said aloud.

CHAPTER X

IN WHICH A MAN KEEPS HIS WORD AND ZORAIDA DARES AND LAUGHS

Kendric called to Bruce. Together they carried the unconscious Barlow
into the house. Kendric, once satisfied that his old friend's heart
still beat, scarcely breathed until he lighted a lamp and found the
wound. It was in the shoulder and not only did not appear dangerous,
but failed to explain the man's condition of coma. There was a trickle
of blood across the pale forehead; Kendric pushed back the hair and
found a cut there, ragged and filled with dirt. Plainly the impact of
the heavy bullet had sufficed to unseat the sailor who, pitching out of
the saddle and striking on his head, had been stunned by the fall.

Kendric bathed and bandaged both wounds while Bruce went for a bottle
of brandy.

"He's coming around," said Kendric as Barlow's throat received the
stinging liquor. "I don't want to be on hand when he opens his eyes,
Bruce; for ten years I've called Twisty by the name of friend. He's
down and out for a little and what we two have to say to each other can
wait a spell."

Bruce, stolidfaced now and morose, nodded. Kendric went outside and
stood watching the flames work their will with Bruce's barns, his heart
heavy within him. One friend down, a bullet hole in his shoulder, shot
as a raiding cattle thief; another friend looking to have lost his
boyish nature with the loss of his hope. And both rendered what they
were through the wickedness of a woman. Woman? As he brooded over the
devastation she had wrought he began to think of her as an evil spirit.
He recalled with a shiver the feel of her burning eyes, hidden but
potent; he thought of the nights at sea when he had felt her presence.
For the first time he allowe