er rose. "But I'm just goin' to sleep with a
gun to my hand, an' he'll get it good an' plenty, if he shoots the
life out of me, an' burns every stick I got, after."

Scipio nodded sympathetically.

"I'd feel that ways," he said. "Well, I guess I'll be gettin' on. My
mare'll be fed an' rested by this. Thanks for the feed. Guess I'll
hunt around this district a piece. Maybe I'll find--"

But suddenly the farmer awoke from the contemplation of his own
troubles and eyed the diminutive figure of his guest wonderingly, as
he stood up to go.

"Say," he observed critically, "guess you must be bustin' with grit
chasin' this feller."

Scipio shook his head.

"No," he said, with a wan smile. "But he's got--my wife."

"Ah."

And there was a world of understanding in the man's monosyllable.

Five minutes later the man-hunter was on the trail again. It was the
afternoon of the second day of his quest. He was saddle-sore and
weary, but his purpose knew no weakening. Gipsy was going fresh and
strong, and though she had already traveled probably a hundred miles
in her rider's aimless wanderings, she moved as though she was out for
a morning's exercise on a liberal diet of oats.

True to his intention Scipio scoured the district with an excess of
enthusiasm which carried him far, and sundown found him amongst the
beehive hummocks which form the approach to the greater hills. Up and
down these wonderful grassy dunes he roamed searching a resting-place
for himself and his mare. There was nothing of the sort in sight,
nothing but the endless series of grassy knolls, and the dividing
hollows which might conceal anything, from a ranch house to an
outlying cattle station. And finally he abandoned all hope of
shelter.

He had certainly lost himself. But, even so, he was not greatly
concerned. Why should he be? What did it matter? He knew that if the
worst came to the worst his mare could eat her fill of grass, and, for
himself, sleep in the open had no terrors. Of food for himself he had
not even begun to think. So he rode on until the last blaze of the
setting sun dropped behind the sky-line.

He was descending into a hollow, something deeper than usual. Hope ran
high that it was one of those hidden breaks, which, at intervals,
cross the sea of grassy dunes, and mark a mountain waterway. Nor was
he disappointed. A few moments later, to his delight, he found himself
gazing into the depths of one of the many rivulets trickling it