e grip of their hands, as they lifted him
and put him into Quade's saddle. Quade was the largest, and it was
mutely accepted that he should be the first to walk, while Sinclair
rode. It was accepted by all except Quade, that is to say. That big man
strode beside his horse, lifting his eyes now and then to glare
remorselessly at Sinclair.

It was bitter work walking through that sand. The heel crunched into
it, throwing a strain heavily on the back of the thigh, and then the
ball of the foot slipped back in the midst of a stride. Also the labor
raised the temperature of the body incredibly. With no wind stirring it
was suffocating.

And the day was barely beginning!

Barely two hours before the sun had been merely a red ball on the edge
of the desert. Now it was low in the sky, but bitterly hot. And their
mournful glances presaged the horror that was coming in the middle of
the day.

Deadly silence fell on that group. They took their turns by the watch,
half an hour at a time, walking and then changing horses, and, as each
man took his turn on foot, he cast one long glance of hatred at
Sinclair.

He was beginning to know them for the first time. They were chance
acquaintances. The whole trip had been undertaken by him on the spur of
the moment; and, as far as lay in his cheery, thoughtless nature, he
had come to regret it. The work of the trail had taught him that he was
mismated in this company, and the first stern test was stripping the
masks from them. He saw three ugly natures, three small, cruel souls.

It came Sandersen's turn to walk.

"Maybe I could take a turn walking," suggested Sinclair.

It was the first time in his life that he had had to shift any burden
onto the shoulders of another except his brother, and that was
different. Ah, how different! He sent up one brief prayer for Riley
Sinclair. There was a man who would have walked all day that his
brother might ride, and at the end of the day that man of iron would be
as fresh as those who had ridden. Moreover, there would have been no
questions, no spite, but a free giving. Mutely he swore that he would
hereafter judge all men by the stern and honorable spirit of Riley.

And then that sad offer: "Maybe I could take a turn walking, Sandersen.
I could hold on to a stirrup and hop along some way!"

Lowrie and Quade sneered, and Sandersen retorted fiercely: "Shut up!
You know it ain't possible, but I ought to call your bluff."

He had no answer, f