om
the trail and searched the wall above with bloodshot, anxious eyes.

On the turn below Dick, Bassett saw him for the first time, and spoke to
him in a quiet voice.

"Hello, old man," he said. "I began to think I was going to miss you
after all."

His scrutiny of Dick's face had rather reassured him. The delirium had
passed, apparently. Dishevelled although he was, covered with dust and
with sweat from the horse, Livingstone's eyes were steady enough. As
he rode up to him, however, he was not so certain. He found himself
surveyed with a sort of cool malignity that startled him.

"Miss me!" Livingstone sneered bitterly. "With every damned hill covered
by this time with your outfit! I'll tell you this. If I'd had a gun
you'd never have got me alive."

Bassett was puzzled and slightly ruffled.

"My outfit! I'll tell you this, son, I've risked my neck half the night
to get you out of this mess."

"God Almighty couldn't get me out of this mess," Dick said somberly.

It was then that Bassett saw something not quite normal in his face, and
he rode closer.

"See here, Livingstone," he said, in a soothing tone, "nobody's going to
get you. I'm here to keep them from getting you. We've got a good start,
but we'll have to keep moving."

Dick sat obstinately still, his horse turned across the trail, and his
eyes still suspicious and unfriendly.

"I don't know you," he said doggedly. "And I've done all the running
away I'm going to do. You go back and tell Wilkins I'm here and to come
and get me. The sooner the better." The sneer faded, and he turned
on Bassett with a depth of tragedy in his eyes that frightened the
reporter. "My God," he said, "I killed a man last night! I can't go
through life with that on me. I'm done, I tell you."

"Last night!" Some faint comprehension began to dawn in Bassett's mind,
a suspicion of the truth. But there was no time to verify it. He turned
and carefully inspected the trail to where it came into sight at the
opposite rim of the valley. When he was satisfied that the pursuit was
still well behind them he spoke again.

"Pull yourself together, Livingstone," he said, rather sharply. "Think
a bit. You didn't kill anybody last night. Now listen," he added
impressively. "You are Livingstone, Doctor Richard Livingstone. You
stick to that, and think about it."

But Dick was not listening, save to some bitter inner voice, for
suddenly he turned his horse around on the trail. "Get out of