"But how could that be? Could--could it be Captain Keith's?"

Bristoe cast an appealing glance at Fairbain, mopping his face
vigorously, not knowing what to say, and the other attempted to turn the
tide.

"Not likely--not likely at all--no reason why it should be--probably
just a stray horse--you stay back here, Miss Hope--Ben and I will find
out, and let you know."

She looked at the two faces, realizing intuitively that they were
concealing something.

"No, I'm going," she cried, stifling a sob in her throat. "It would kill
me to wait here."

She was off before either might raise hand or voice in protest, and they
could only urge their horses in effort to overtake her, the three racing
forward fetlock deep in sand. Mounted upon a swifter animal Fairbain
forged ahead; he could see the two horses now plainly, their heads
uplifted, their reins dangling. Without perceiving more he knew already
what was waiting them there on the sand, and swore fiercely, spurring
his horse mercilessly, forgetful of all else, even the girl, in his
intense desire to reach and touch the bodies. He had begged to do this
himself, to be privileged to seek this man Hawley, to kill him--but
now he was the physician, with no other thought except a hope to save.
Before his horse had even stopped he flung himself from the saddle, ran
forward and dropped on his knees beside Keith, bending his ear to the
chest, grasping the wrist in his fingers. As the others approached, he
glanced up, no conception now of aught save his own professional work.

"Water, Bristoe," he exclaimed sharply, "Dash some brandy in it. Quick
now. There, that's it; hold his head up--higher. Yes, you do it, Miss
Hope; here, Ben, take this, and pry his teeth open--well, he got a
swallow anyhow. Hold him just as he is--can you stand it? I've got to
find where he was hit."

"Yes--yes," she answered, "don't--don't mind me."

He tore open the woolen shirt, soaked with blood already hardening,
felt within with skilled fingers, his eyes keen, his lips muttering
unconsciously.

"Quarter of an inch--quarter of an inch too high--scraped the
lung--Lord, if I can only get it out--got to do it now--can't
wait--here, Bristoe, that leather case on my saddle--run, damn
you--we'll save him yet, girl--there, drop his head in your lap--yes,
cry if you want to--only hold still--open the case, will you--down here,
where I can reach it--now water--all our canteens--Hope, tear me off a
stri