horne. He leaned against a
pile of wood, which he had collected, and his gloomy gaze pierced the
campfire, and at long intervals strayed over the motionless form of the
Spanish girl.

The rangers and Thorne, however, talked in low tones. It was
absolutely impossible for Rojas and his men to reach the waterhole
before noon of the next day. And long before that time the fugitives
would have decided on a plan of defense. What that defense would be,
and where it would be made, were matters over which the men considered
gravely. Ladd averred the Yaqui would put them into an impregnable
position, that at the same time would prove a death-trap for their
pursuers. They exhausted every possibility, and then, tired as they
were, still kept on talking.

"What stuns me is that Rojas stuck to our trail," said Thorne, his
lined and haggard face expressive of dark passion. "He has followed us
into this fearful desert. He'll lose men, horses, perhaps his life.
He's only a bandit, and he stands to win no gold. If he ever gets out
of here it 'll be by herculean labor and by terrible hardship. All for
a poor little helpless woman--just a woman! My God, I can't understand
it."

"Shore--just a woman," replied Ladd, solemnly nodding his head.

Then there was a long silence during which the men gazed into the fire.
Each, perhaps, had some vague conception of the enormity of Rojas's
love or hate--some faint and amazing glimpse of the gulf of human
passion. Those were cold, hard, grim faces upon which the light
flickered.

"Sleep," said the Yaqui.

Thorne rolled in his blanket close beside Mercedes. Then one by one
the rangers stretched out, feet to the fire. Gale found that he could
not sleep. His eyes were weary, but they would not stay shut; his body
ached for rest, yet he could not lie still. The night was so somber,
so gloomy, and the lava-encompassed arroyo full of shadows. The dark
velvet sky, fretted with white fire, seemed to be close. There was an
absolute silence, as of death. Nothing moved--nothing outside of
Gale's body appeared to live. The Yaqui sat like an image carved out
of lava. The others lay prone and quiet. Would another night see any
of them lie that way, quiet forever? Gale felt a ripple pass over him
that was at once a shudder and a contraction of muscles. Used as he
was to the desert and its oppression, why should he feel to-night as if
the weight of its lava and the burden of its mystery