stance to the rocky buttress seemed at once interminable and
incredibly short. As she reached it she held her breath and her teeth dug
into her colorless lips. But when another section of the winding gorge lay
before her, silent, empty save for scattered boulders and a few scanty
bits of stunted vegetation, one small, gloved hand fluttered to her
breast, then dropped, clenched, against the saddle-horn.

A rounded mass of rock, fallen in ages past from the cliffs above, blocked
her path, and mechanically the girl reined Freckles around it. An instant
later the horse stopped of his own accord, and the girl found herself
staring down with horror-stricken eyes at the body of a man stretched out
on the further side of the boulders. Motionless he lay there, a long
length of brown chaps and torn, disordered shirt. His face was hidden in
his crooked arms; the tumbled mass of brown hair was matted with ominous
dark clots. But in that single, stricken second Mary Thorne knew whom she
had found.

"Oh!" she choked, fighting desperately against a wave of faintness that
threatened to overwhelm her. "O-h!"

Slowly the man's face lifted, and two bloodshot eyes regarded her dully
through a matted lock of hair that lay stiffly plastered against his
forehead. With a curious, stealthy movement, one hand twisted back to his
side and fumbled there for an instant. Then the man groaned softly.

"I forgot," he mumbled. "It's gone. You--you've got me this time, I
reckon."

Face drained to paper-white and lips quivering, Mary Thorne slid out of
her saddle, steadied herself against the horse for a second, and then
dropped on her knees beside him.

"Buck!" she cried in a shaking voice. "You--you're hurt! What--what is
it?"

A puzzled look came into his face, and as he stared into the wide,
frightened hazel eyes so close to his, recognition slowly dawned.

"You!" he muttered. "What--How--"

She twined her fingers together to stop their trembling. "I was riding
through the pass," she told him briefly. "I saw your horse and I--I
was--afraid--"

A faint gleam came into the bloodshot eyes. "My--my horse? You mean a--a
Rocking-R cayuse?"

"Yes."

He tried to sit up, but the effort turned him so white that the girl cried
out protestingly.

"You mustn't. You're badly hurt. I--I'll ride back for help." She sprang
to her feet. "But first I must get you water."

He stared at her as one regards a desert mirage. "Water!" he repeated
unbelievi