yote, nor yet the buzzards that
circled meditatively above could disturb the mound.

The sun was setting when he had finished.

"There Peter," said he, "you did your bit, keeping the beasts away. And
now I've done mine, so we'll move on."

Roger stood for a moment looking from Peter to the mound, then at the
wide sweep of the ranges about. The whole world was spread before him in
utter silence; range beyond range, desert beyond desert into a violet
distance so great that the fancy staggered in contemplating it. For the
first time a feeling of utter desolation swept over Roger.

What a death! What a burial! Moved by the impulse that is the heritage
of the ages, Roger took off his hat and bowed his head.

"O God!" he said softly. "Receive this man's soul and give him peace.
Amen!"

Then he turned south along the range. He had gone a hundred yards when
he remembered Peter and turned back. The little fellow was standing,
head drooping, ears flopping beside the grave. Roger whistled but Peter
gave no heed, and finally Roger was compelled to go back, tie the lead
rope to Peter's bridle and fairly pull him along the trail.

Roger did not pause until he had put a peak between himself and that
lonely grave. Then, when the moon was sailing high, he made camp by a
great bowlder. He turned Peter loose, a little fearfully at first, but
the wise little burro made no attempt to turn back. When Roger was
seated cross-legged by the fire eating bacon and beans, Peter dropped
his nose over Roger's shoulder with a sigh.

"Hungry, old Peter?" asked Roger. "I haven't got much, but by Jove, you
can have half of that," and he scooped half of the contents of his plate
on a nearby stone. Peter ate it gravely, after which Roger poured a cup
of his precious water into the frying pan for the little donkey's
benefit. Then while Peter seemed to doze with his nose dropped almost to
the ground, Roger sat long in the hot night, smoking and wrapped in
thought.

Since the death of his father, Roger had had no contact with the Grim
Reaper, and the tragic discovery of the afternoon had shaken him. Yet as
he sat looking out over the impenetrable calm and mystery of the ranges
that lifted their noble peaks to the sailing moon, it seemed to him that
death in the desert was a clean and normal part of life. If his Sun
Plant were finished, if the best of him, his dreams, were made permanent
in concrete and steel, what more happy ending could he ask than