ing down.

Wilton closed his eyes as Harris departed to head them back. Three
times during the night Deane was roused as one or the other of the
three men left his bed roll to frustrate an attempt of the horses to
make a break for home. Near morning he was once more wakened by a
clammy dampness on his face. A fine drizzle was falling. Slade was on
his feet, shoving a few sticks of wood inside the flap of Billie's
teepee.

In the first gray light of morning Harris was up and slicing shavings
from the few dry sticks Slade had so thoughtfully tucked away.
Breakfast was cooked under the dripping trees. The ranger was soaked
to the knees as he waded through the tall grass to the picketed horse.
He saddled him and went up-country after the other horses. The outfit
was packed up and the little procession filed away toward the next
valley--and Carlos Deane proved his real caliber to Harris.

Throughout the day they rode in a fine drizzle; in the timber the wet
branches whipped them and sprayed water down the necks of their
slickers; in the boggy meadows of the bottoms the mosquitoes hovered
round them in humming swarms. The horses stamped, shook their heads
angrily and switched their tortured flanks with dripping tails till at
last the men greased their noses, eyes and flanks to protect the
animals from the singing horde. When they dismounted to lead their
horses up precipitous game trails leading to the crest of some divide
Deane's Angora chaps flapped like dead weights and seemed to drag him
back. From the lofty ridges they gazed down upon white clouds floating
in the valleys; and at night they made camp and slept in damp bed rolls
with the clammy mist chilling them. The next day was the same.

Harris knew that a man might evidence great courage in the face of
danger, risk his life in the heat of excitement, but that the true test
of iron control is to experience grinding discomfort and smile.
Deane's neck was raw and chafed from the wet neckband of his flannel
shirt and his hands and cheeks were puffed with the bites of the
buzzing pests. But Deane had been cheerful throughout and had uttered
no complaint.

Toward evening of the second gloomy day Harris rode up beside him.

"You'll do," he said.

"How's that?" Deane asked.

"There's maybe one man out of every two hundred that can go along like
this and not get to blaming every one in sight for what's happening to
him. I don't know as I'd have blamed you