had not said a word since they left the river. Now he leaned
over and peered into Lambert's face with an expression of excited
malevolence, his eyes glittering in the firelight, his nostrils flaring
as if he drew exhilaration with every breath. He betrayed more of their
intentions than Kerr had discovered in his words; so much, indeed, that
Lambert's heart seemed to gush its blood and fall empty and cold.

Lambert forgot his throbbing head and tortured feet, and hands gorged
with blood to the strain of bursting below his tight-drawn bonds. The
realization of his hopeless situation rushed on him; he looked round him
to seize even the most doubtful opening that might lead him out of
their hands.

There was no chance. He could not wheel his horse without hand on rein,
no matter how well the willing beast obeyed the pressure of his knees
while galloping in the open field.

He believed they intended to kill him and throw his body in the fire.
Old Nick Hargus and his son had it in their power at last to take
satisfaction for the humiliation to which he had bent them. A thousand
regrets for his simplicity in falling into their trap came prickling him
with their momentary torture, succeeded by wild gropings, frantic
seekings, for some plan to get away.

He had no thought of making an appeal to them, no consideration of a
surrender of his manhood by giving his promise to leave the country if
they would set him free. He was afraid, as any healthy human is afraid
when he stands before a danger that he can neither defend against nor
assail. Sweat burst out on him; his heart labored and heaved in heavy
strokes.

Whatever was passing in his mind, no trace of it was betrayed in his
bearing. He sat stiff and erect, the red glow of the intense fire on his
face. His hat-brim was pressed back as the wind had held it in his ride,
the scar of Jim Wilder's knife a shadow adding to the grim strength of
his lean face. His bound arms drew his shoulders back, giving him a
defiant pose.

"Take him out there and head him the right way, boys," Kerr directed.

Tom Hargus rode ahead, leading Whetstone by the reins. Kerr was not
following. At Lambert's last sight of him he was still looking into the
fire, as if fascinated by the sight of it.

A hundred yards or less from the fire they stopped. Tom Hargus turned
Whetstone to face back the way they had come, threw the reins over the
saddle-horn, rode up so close Lambert could feel his breath i