resting his eyes finally upon a chunky white.
Instinctively he knew that this horse was mean, and he hated mean horses
as he hated mean men. Observing that this one showed his teeth freely at
him, the while holding his small ears almost constantly flat, he
measured him for difficulties in the future, if the association were to
continue. Then he turned his eyes back to the men.

As he did so, out of the silence rode a single horseman. He was mounted
upon the sorrel, and Pat wondered at this. But as the man drew near and
Pat saw a blood-smeared, ghastly face, he wondered still more. For there
was something familiar about this lone rider, and he took a step toward
him. Presently he saw him gain the outer edge of the circle, and then a
strange thing happened. He saw the young man begin to weave in his
saddle, saw two of the others suddenly leap for him--saw them reach him
just in time to save him from tumbling limply to the ground. Then he
noted another queer thing. He saw the young man's left arm dangle oddly
from the shoulder; saw the young man himself grasp it, wincing with
excruciating pain, and saw him turn wide eyes suddenly toward him. Then
he heard the man speak.

"Look--look him over!" he cried, and his voice was a curious mixture of
distress and restrained excitement. "I--I don't want him--him to go
back--to go back--hurt--hurt in--in--"

And now Pat saw the strangest thing of all. He saw the young man slowly
close his eyes and sink back into the arms of the others as one dead. He
saw the others exchange troubled glances and lay the insensible form
down tenderly on the sand. It was all very unusual, something new in his
life; and, not knowing what else to do, yet somehow feeling that he
should do something, be it never so little, he lowered his head and
sounded a trembling nicker into the silence.

CHAPTER XVIII

AN ENEMY

There was water in the grove, and the men made camp at the edge of the
trees. "The Doc," which was what the rangers early had affectionately
nicknamed Stephen, was suffering a compound fracture of the left arm,
together with numerous bruises and scratches about the head and face. He
had had a nasty fall. His horse had stumbled and almost instantly died
as the result of the big cattle-rustler's shots. The men set and
splinted Stephen's arm as best they could, and they bandaged his head
with rare skill; but it was deemed advisable for him to remain quiet for
a time.

So Stephen l