been driven by the hammer of Thor into a seamed and cracked floor.
This was Altar Valley. It was a chaos of arroyo's, canyons, rocks, and
ridges all mantled with cactus, and at its eastern end it claimed the
dry bed of Forlorn River and water when there was any.

With a wounded, helpless man across the saddle, this stretch of thorny
and contorted desert was practically impassable. Yet Gale headed into
it unflinchingly. He would carry the Yaqui as far as possible, or
until death make the burden no longer a duty. Blanco Sol plodded on
over the dragging sand, up and down the steep, loose banks of washes,
out on the rocks, and through the rows of white-tooled choyas.

The sun sloped westward, bending fiercer heat in vengeful, parting
reluctance. The wind slackened. The dust settled. And the bold,
forbidding front of No Name Mountains changed to red and gold. Gale
held grimly by the side of the tireless, implacable horse, holding the
Yaqui on the saddle, taking the brunt of the merciless thorns. In the
end it became heartrending toil. His heavy chaps dragged him down; but
he dared not go on without them, for, thick and stiff as they were, the
terrible, steel-bayoneted spikes of the choyas pierced through to sting
his legs.

To the last mile Gale held to Blanco Sol's gait and kept ever-watchful
gaze ahead on the trail. Then, with the low, flat houses of Forlorn
River shining red in the sunset, Gale flagged and rapidly weakened.
The Yaqui slipped out of the saddle and dropped limp in the sand. Gale
could not mount his horse. He clutched Sol's long tail and twisted his
hand in it and staggered on.

Blanco Sol whistled a piercing blast. He scented cool water and sweet
alfalfa hay. Twinkling lights ahead meant rest. The melancholy desert
twilight rapidly succeeded the sunset. It accentuated the forlorn
loneliness of the gray, winding river of sand and its grayer shores.
Night shadows trooped down from the black and looming mountains.

VII

WHITE HORSES

"A CRIPPLED Yaqui! Why the hell did you saddle yourself with him?"
roared Belding, as he laid Gale upon the bed.

Belding had grown hard these late, violent weeks.

"Because I chose," whispered Gale, in reply. "Go after him--he dropped
in the trail--across the river--near the first big saguaro."

Belding began to swear as he fumbled with matches and the lamp; but as
the light flared up he stopped short in the middle of a word.

"You said you were