down to git shade from the sun. I seed him squat whiles I war walkin'
away. The sun ain't hot enuf yit to a druv him to westward o' the bush,
though thar for sartin he must be. What's the use o' my stannin'
shilly-shally hyar? I may as well face the sight at oncest, ugly as I
know it'll prove. Hyar goes."

Steeling himself for the terrible spectacle, which he believes to be
certainly awaiting him, he once more advances towards the tree.

A dozen strides bring him up, and less than half a dozen more carry him
around it.

No body, living or dead--no remains of man, mutilated or otherwise!

For some time Wilder stands in speechless surprise, his glances going
all around. But no human figure is seen, either by the palmilla or
among the sage-bushes beside it. Can the wounded man have crawled away?
But no; why should he? Still, to make sure, the ex-Ranger shouts out,
calling Hamersley by name.

He gets no response. Alone he hears the echo of his own voice, mingling
with the hoarse croaking of the vultures, scared by his shouts.

His hunter habits now counsel him to a different course of action. His
comrade cannot be dead, else the corpse would be there. The vultures
could not have eaten up both body and bones. There is no skeleton, no
remains. His fellow fugitive has gone off or been taken. Whither?
While asking the question Wilder sets about the right way to answer it.
As a skilled tracker he begins by examining the signs that should put
him on the trace of his missing companion. At a glance he perceives the
prints of a horse's hoof, and sees they are those of one unshod. This
bodes ill, for the naked-hoofed horse betokens a savage rider--an
Indian. Still, it may not be; and he proceeds to a more careful
scrutiny of the tracks. In a short time he is able to tell that but one
horse has been there, and presumably but one rider, which promises
better. And while shaping conjectures as to who it could have been his
eye ascends to the piece of paper impaled upon the spike, which he has
for a time forgotten. This promises still better. It may clear up
everything.

Hoping it will, he strides towards and takes hold of it. Lifting it
carefully from the leaf, he spreads it out. He sees some writing in
pencil, which he prepares to read.

At first sight he supposed it might be a dying record. Now he believes
it may be something else.

His hands tremble, and his huge frame is convulsed as he holds the p