as not one
wherein these things could wholly control. He felt life strong within
his breast, yet there, a step away, was death, yawning, glaring, smoky,
red. It was a moment--an hour for a savage, born, bred, developed in
this scarred and blasted place of jagged depths and red distances and
silences never meant to be broken. Since Gale was not a savage he
fought that call of the red gods which sent him back down the long ages
toward his primitive day. His mind combated his sense of sight and the
hearing that seemed useless; and his mind did not win all the victory.
Something fatal was here, hanging in the balance, as the red haze hung
along the vast walls of that crater of hell.

Suddenly harsh, prolonged yells brought him to his feet, and the
unrealities vanished. Far down the trails where the crater rims closed
in the deep fissure he saw moving forms. They were three in number.
Two of them ran nimbly across the lava bridge. The third staggered far
behind. It was Ladd. He appeared hard hit. He dragged at the heavy
rifle which he seemed unable to raise. The yells came from him. He
was calling the Yaqui.

Gale's heart stood still momentarily. Here, then, was the catastrophe!
He hardly dared sweep that fissure with his glass. The two fleeing
figures halted--turned to fire at Ladd. Gale recognized the foremost
one--small, compact, gaudy. Rojas! The bandit's arm was outstretched.
Puffs of white smoke rose, and shots rapped out. When Ladd went down
Rojas threw his gun aside and with a wild yell bounded over the lava.
His companion followed.

A tide of passion, first hot as fire, then cold as ice, rushed over
Gale when he saw Rojas take the trail toward Mercedes's hiding-place.
The little bandit appeared to have the sure-footedness of a mountain
sheep. The Mexican following was not so sure or fast. He turned back.
Gale heard the trenchant bark of the .405. Ladd was kneeling. He shot
again--again. The retreating bandit seemed to run full into an
invisible obstacle, then fell lax, inert, lifeless. Rojas sped on
unmindful of the spurts of dust about him. Yaqui, high above Ladd, was
also firing at the bandit. Then both rifles were emptied. Rojas
turned at a high break in the trail. He shook a defiant hand, and his
exulting yell pealed faintly to Gale's ears. About him there was
something desperate, magnificent. Then he clambered down the trail.

Ladd dropped the .405, and rising, gun in hand, he st