he river and across to their own country. There'll be some, I
bet, who'll never see Mexico again!"

"But Knight----" the girl faltered. "He may be shot----"

"He may. We've got to take the chances and hope for the best. He wouldn't
leave the chase now if every door and window were open and lit for him.
Wait. Watch. That's the only thing to do."

She yielded to the detaining hand. All strength had gone out of her. She
staggered a little, and fell back against Van Vreck's shoulder. He held
her up strongly, as though he had been a young man.

"How can I live through it?" she moaned.

"You care for him after all, then?" she heard the calm voice asking in
her ear. And she heard her own voice answer: "I love him more than ever."
She knew that it was true, true in spite of everything, and that she had
never ceased to love him. It would be joy to give her life to save
Knight's, with just one moment of breath to tell him that his atonement
had not been vain.

* * * * *

Away out of sight the chase went, but the watching eyes had time to see
that not all the figures were on horseback. Some ran on foot; and some
horses were riderless. As Van Vreck had said, there was nothing for him
and for Annesley to do except to wait. They stood silent in the rain of
sand, listening when there was nothing more to see. The shots were
scattered and blurred by distance. Annesley realized how a heart may stop
beating in the anguish of suspense.

But at last when the fierce wind, purring like a tiger, was the only
sound in the night, there came a sudden padding of feet. A form stumbled
up the veranda steps, and before she could cry out in her surprise, the
girl recognized their Chinese servant.

She had fancied him in bed. But she might have known he would be out!

He had been running so fast that his breath came chokingly.

"What is it?" Annesley implored.

The boy pointed, trying to speak, "Bling Mist' Donal back," he gulped.
"Me come tell."

Annesley pushed past him, and springing down the steps ran blindly
through the sand cloud, taking the way by which the Chinese boy must have
come home. Her mind pictured a procession carrying a dead man, or one
grievously wounded; but at the cactus hedge she came upon three men--one
in the centre, who limped, two who supported him on either side.

"Why, Anita!" exclaimed her husband's voice.

"Knight!" she sobbed. It was the first time since Easter a year ago th