ppear
far to where the dog was barking, but the latter part of the distance
proved to be a hard climb over jumbled rocks and through thick brush.
Panting and hot, she at length reached the base of the bluff, to find
that it was not very high.

The dog espied her before she saw him, for he was coming toward her
when she discovered him. Big, shaggy, grayish white and black, with
wild, keen face and eyes he assuredly looked the reputation Springer
had accorded him. But sagacious, guarded as was his approach, he
appeared friendly.

"Hello--doggie!" panted Ellen. "What's--wrong--up heah?"

He yelped, his ears lost their stiffness, his body sank a little, and
his bushy tail wagged to and fro. What a gray, clear, intelligent look
he gave her! Then he trotted back.

Ellen followed him around a corner of bluff to see the body of a man
lying on his back. Fresh earth and gravel lay about him, attesting to
his fall from above. He had on neither coat nor hat, and the position
of his body and limbs suggested broken bones. As Ellen hurried to his
side she saw that the front of his shirt, low down, was a bloody
blotch. But he could lift his head; his eyes were open; he was
perfectly conscious. Ellen did not recognize the dusty, skinned face,
yet the mold of features, the look of the eyes, seemed strangely
familiar.

"You're--Jorth's--girl," he said, in faint voice of surprise.

"Yes, I'm Ellen Jorth," she replied. "An' are y'u Bill Isbel?"

"All thet's left of me. But I'm thankin' God somebody come--even a
Jorth."

Ellen knelt beside him and examined the wound in his abdomen. A heavy
bullet had indeed, as Colter had avowed, torn clear through his middle.
Even if he had not sustained other serious injury from the fall over
the cliff, that terrible bullet wound meant death very shortly. Ellen
shuddered. How inexplicable were men! How cruel, bloody, mindless!

"Isbel, I'm sorry--there's no hope," she said, low voiced. "Y'u've not
long to live. I cain't help y'u. God knows I'd do so if I could."

"All over!" he sighed, with his eyes looking beyond her. "I reckon--I'm
glad.... But y'u can--do somethin' for or me. Will y'u?"

"Indeed, Yes. Tell me," she replied, lifting his dusty head on her
knee. Her hands trembled as she brushed his wet hair back from his
clammy brow.

"I've somethin'--on my conscience," he whispered.

The woman, the sensitive in Ellen, understood and pitied him then.

"Yes," she encoura