nchers. The illicit
sale of whiskey to the cowboys of the Concho Valley had been the cause
of Soper's hurried evacuation. The cabin had been burned to the
ground. Fadeaway knew that without Soper's assistance Corliss would be
unable to get to the railroad--would be obliged either to return to the
Concho or starve on the empty mesas.

Corliss bent his head as the rain drove faster. When he arrived at the
edge of the mesa, the storm had increased to a steady dull roar of
rushing rain. He hesitated to face the open and reined up beneath a
spruce. He was drenched and shivered. The fever of drink had died out
leaving him unstrung and strangely fearful of the night. His horse
stood with lowered head, its storm-blown mane whipping in the wind like
a wet cloth. A branch riven from a giant pine crashed down behind him.
Corliss jerked upright in the saddle, and the horse, obeying the
accidental touch of the spurs, plodded out to the mesa with head held
sideways.

The rider's hands grew numb and he dropped the reins over the horn and
shoved his hands in his pockets. Unaccustomed to riding he grew weary
and, despite the storm, he drowsed, to awaken with a start as gusts of
wind swept against his face. He raised his dripping hat and shook the
water from it. Then he crouched shivering in the saddle. He cursed
himself for a fool and longed for shelter and the warmth of a fire.
Slowly a feeling of helplessness stole over him and he pictured himself
returning to the Concho and asking forgiveness of his brother. Yet he
kept stubbornly on, glancing ahead from time to time until at last he
saw the dim edge of the distant timber--a black line against the
darkness. He urged his horse to a trot, and was all but thrown as the
animal suddenly avoided a prairie-dog hole. The sweep of the storm was
broken as he entered the farther timber. Then came the muffled roll of
thunder and an instant white flash. The horse reared as a bolt struck
a pine. Came the ghastly whistle of flying splinters as the tree was
shattered. Corliss grabbed the saddle-horn as the horse bolted through
the timberlands, working against the curb to reach the open. Once more
on the trail the animal quieted. They topped a gentle rise. Corliss
breathed his relief. Soper's cabin was in the hollow below them.

Cautiously the horse worked sideways down the ridge, slipping and
checking short as the loose stones slithered beneath his feet. At the
bottom of