sat up. The day had gone, the stars were out, the air was
cool against his cheek. He got to his feet and went to the spot where
he had left the Indian, half expecting to find the man dead. Instead
he found no man at all. He looked about him; there was light enough to
see objects at a considerable distance. The desert seemed, as it had
seemed all day, empty. He called and got no answer. It was obvious
enough that Kish Taka had rested, waked, gone on.

'Got thirsty,' grunted Howard, 'and just trotted over to a spring only
twenty-five miles off for a drink! That's the Indian for you.'

His own thirst sprang out upon him, clutching him by the throat. He
stepped to the bush where he had left his canteen and groped for it.
When he did not find it, he looked elsewhere, supposing that he had
made a mistake in the bush. When the truth dawned upon him his whole
body grew rigid, he stood motionless, even for a little his lungs
suspended their function. His hands clenched; for some reason and
apparently without any act of his will, they were lifted slowly until
they were above his head. Then they came down slowly until they were
at his sides, still clenched hard. It was his only gesture. He did
not speak aloud. Again he stood still. But through his heart and soul
and brain, sweeping upward and upward, came such a flood of rage as he
had never known. And with it, born of it, came rushing the frenzied
craving to kill. At last came his dry whisper:

'I am going to last long enough to kill you, Kish Taka, and may God
damn your soul!'

One hand took up his little bundle of food; the, other dropped to the
butt of his revolver. He went swiftly to the spot where he had left
the Indian whom he had thought half dead. He estimated again and with
great care the direction which the lean leathery hand had indicated as
the direction of water. Then, walking swiftly, he struck out into the
desert. Here was not the way to Desert Valley, not the way to Quigley.
But here was the path for one man to follow when he sought another man
who had wronged him. The fact that his chances of coming up with the
Indian were few did not deter the cattleman; the obscurity of night on
the desert did not give him halt or hesitation. The name of his wrath
burned high and hot in his brain and in its lurid light he saw his
desire fulfilled. Had one tried at the moment to reason with him,
Howard would have cursed him and gone on. His anger ha