was furiously grinning.

"Bin?" he echoed. "I bin wher' you needn't to go--wher' it ain't no
use your goin'," he cried, his love of boast prompting him. "I bin to
fix things up. She's goin' to mar----"

A shot rang out. Ike's face blanched, but like lightning his pistol
bit out its retort. Pete reeled and recovered himself, and again he
fired. Ike leant forward as though seeking support from the horn of
his saddle. Pete had fallen forward on to his horse's neck. Ike raised
his gun and fired again, but there had really been no need for the
shot. Even as his gun spoke the other man fell to the ground and
rolled over. His dark face was turned upward, so that the waiting
crows had a full view of it.

After that Ike remained quite still. His pale face, turning to a
greenish hue in contrast to his ginger hair, was staring down at the
result of his handiwork. But his eyes were almost unseeing. He was
faint and weary, and in great pain.

The moments passed. At last he stirred. But his movement was merely to
clutch with feeble fingers at the mane of his horse. Vainly his left
hand clawed amongst the lank hair, while the fingers of his right
released their grip upon his pistol and let it clatter to the ground.

He crouched there breathing heavily, while a harsh croak from above
split the air. Again he moved as though the sound had awakened him. He
strove to sit up, to lift the reins, and to urge his horse forward.
The beast moved in response to his effort. But the movement was all
that was needed. The man reeled, lost his balance, and fell heavily to
the ground. He too had rolled on to his back--he too was gazing up
with unseeing eyes at the dark-hued carrion whose patience was
inexhaustible.

For a moment all was still. Then the horses moved as by common
consent. They drew near to each other, and their noses met in that
inquiring equine fashion which suggests friendly overtures. They stood
thus for a while. Then both moved to the side of the trail and began
to graze upon the parching grass after the unconcerned manner of
their kind.

The heavy flapping of wings told of a fresh movement in the trees
above. Two great black bodies swung out upon the air. They circled
round as though assuring themselves that all was as they could wish
it. Then they settled again. But this time it was on the boughs of a
low bush less than six feet above the staring faces of their intended
victims.

CHAPTER XXII

A MAN'S SUPPORT