call to stick--you can find that trail
out. It's easy to follow, made by so many shod hosses. Take your wife
an' go.... Shore you'll go, Thorne?"

Deliberately and without an instant's hesitation the cavalryman replied
"No."

Ladd then directed his appeal to Mercedes. His face was now convulsed,
and his voice, though it had sunk to a whisper, was clear, and
beautiful with some rich quality that Gale had never heard in it.

"Mercedes, you're a woman. You're the woman we fought for. An' some
of us are shore goin' to die for you. Don't make it all for nothin'.
Let us feel we saved the woman. Shore you can make Thorne go. He'll
have to go if you say. They'll all have to go. Think of the years of
love an' happiness in store for you. A week or so an' it 'll be too
late. Can you stand for me seein' you?... Let me tell you, Mercedes,
when the summer heat hits the lava we'll all wither an' curl up like
shavin's near a fire. A wind of hell will blow up this slope. Look at
them mesquites. See the twist in them. That's the torture of heat an'
thirst. Do you want me or all us men seein' you like that?...
Mercedes, don't make it all for nothin'. Say you'll persuade Thorne,
if not the others."

For all the effect his appeal had to move her Mercedes might have
possessed a heart as hard and fixed as the surrounding lava.

"Never!"

White-faced, with great black eyes flashing, the Spanish girl spoke the
word that bound her and her companions in the desert.

The subject was never mentioned again. Gale thought that he read a
sinister purpose in Ladd's mind. To his astonishment, Lash came to him
with the same fancy. After that they made certain there never was a
gun within reach of Ladd's clutching, clawlike hands.

Gradually a somber spell lifted from the ranger's mind. When he was
entirely free of it he began to gather strength daily. Then it was as
if he had never known patience--he who had shown so well how to wait.
He was in a frenzy to get well. He appetite could not be satisfied.

The sun climbed higher, whiter, hotter. At midday a wind from gulfward
roared up the arroyo, and now only palos verdes and the few saguaros
were green. Every day the water in the lava hole sank an inch.

The Yaqui alone spent the waiting time in activity. He made trips up
on the lava slope, and each time he returned with guns or boots or
sombreros, or something belonging to the bandits that had fallen. He
never fetch