skulls along
the creek-bed; it swung gloriously up to its zenith and the earth
palpitated with a panting heat. Summer had come, and the long days
when the lizards crawl deep into their crevices and the cattle follow
the scanty shade of the box canyons or gather in standing-places where
the wind draws over the ridges and mitigates the flies. In the pasture
at Hidden Water the horses stood head and tail together, side by side,
each thrashing the flies from the other's face and dozing until hunger
or thirst aroused them or perversity took them away. Against the cool
face of the cliff the buzzards moped and stretched their dirty wings
in squalid discomfort; the trim little sparrow-hawks gave over their
hunting; and all the world lay tense and still. Only at the ranch
house where Hardy kept a perfunctory watch was there any sign of
motion or life.

For two weeks now he had been alone, ever since Jeff went down to
Bender, and with the solitary's dread of surprise he stepped out into
the _ramada_ regularly, scanning the western trail with eyes grown
weary of the earth's emptiness.

At last as the sun sank low, throwing its fiery glare in his eyes, he
saw the familiar figure against the sky--Creede, broad and bulky and
topped by his enormous hat, and old Bat Wings, as raw-boned and ornery
as ever. Never until that moment had Hardy realized how much his life
was dependent upon this big, warm-hearted barbarian who clung to his
native range as instinctively as a beef and yet possessed human
attributes that would win him friends anywhere in the world. Often in
that long two weeks he had reproached himself for abandoning Jeff in
his love-making. What could be said for a love which made a man so
pitiless? Was it worthy of any return? Was it, after all, a thing to
be held so jealously to his heart, gnawing out his vitals and robbing
him of his humanity? These and many other questions Hardy had had time
to ask himself in his fortnight of introspection and as he stood by
the doorway waiting he resolved to make amends. From a petty creature
wrapped up in his own problems and prepossessions he would make
himself over into a man worthy of the name of friend. Yet the
consciousness of his fault lay heavy upon him and as Creede rode in he
stood silent, waiting for him to speak. But Jeff for his part came on
grimly, and there was a sombre glow in his eyes which told more than
words.

"Hello, sport," he said, smiling wantonly, "could you ta