rd the distant horizon. A
second whinny disturbed him and he shifted his gaze. Far above two great
buzzards, circling round and round, faded into the morning haze. From a
neighboring sand-dune a jack-rabbit appeared, paused a quivering moment,
then scurried from view. The morning light grew brighter. A third
whinny, and Pat now slowly started toward him. But again he fastened his
eyes upon the distant horizon, hoping for a sight of the ranch wagon.
But no wagon appeared. At length he turned to the horse. Pat stood
soberly regarding the man, his ears forward, head drooping, tail
motionless, as if recognizing in this mute object an erstwhile master.
And suddenly lifting his head, he sounded a soft nicker, tremulously.
Then again he fell to regarding the still form with strange interest.

The form was still, still for all eternity. For the man was dead.

Stephen sat down. He was shaking with fever and weakness. He placed a
handkerchief over the face in repose, almost relieved that peace had
come to this troubled soul. Then he thought of possible action. He
realized that he was utterly lost. He had Pat, and for this he was
thankful, since he knew that he could at least mount the horse and leave
him to find a way out. But the horse alone must do it. He himself was
bewildered, for the desert in broad day, as much as in the long night,
revealed nothing. On every hand it lay barren, destitute of movement,
wrapped in silence, seeming to mock his predicament. Yet he could not
bring himself to mount at once. He sat motionless, suffering acutely,
knowing that the least exertion would increase his pain--a machine run
down--not caring to move.

Suddenly, off to the east appeared a horse--a gray. It cantered
majestically to the top of a dune, and stood there--head erect, nostrils
quivering, ears alert, cresting the hillock like a statue. Stephen
shivered. For instinctively he knew this to be the gray stallion, the
cross-bred, that had trampled the form beside him. His first impulse was
to mount Pat and spur him in a race for life; his second impulse was to
crouch in hiding in the hope of escaping the keen scrutiny of that
merciless demon. He chose the race. Springing to his feet, he leaped for
Pat, and he grasped the saddle-horn. In his haste he slipped, lost his
stirrup, and fell back headlong. The shock made him faint, and for a
time he was unconscious. Shrill neighing aroused him, and, hastily
gaining his feet, he saw Pat running