rotted a few yards, and stood still. A faint
neigh floated down wind.

"Doggone it!" exclaimed old man Dumble, "his horse is fresh. He's got
friends in the hills."

We had left the trail, and were pounding over the sage-brush desert. I
could smell the sage, strongly pungent, and the alkaline dust began to
irritate my throat; the sun, if one stood still, was strong enough to
blister the skin of the hands.

For three-quarters of an hour it seemed to me that the distance
between us and our quarry remained constant; but Dumble said we were
falling behind. The thief was lighter than any of us, and his horse
was evidently a stayer. The hills rose out of the haze, bleak and
bare, seamed with gulches, a safe sanctuary for all wild things.

"If the cuss was within range, I'd try a shot," said the old man.

"I'd like to make out who he is," said Ajax.

Suddenly the horse of the thief fell. We discovered later that the
beast had plunged into a piece of ground honeycombed with squirrel-
holes. The man staggered to his feet; the horse struggled where he
fell, but did not rise. His shoulder was broken.

"We have him!" yelled Dumble.

"Yes; we have him," repeated my brother. "Suppose we take a look at
him?"

The thief had abandoned all idea of escape. He stood beside his horse,
waiting for us; but at the distance we could not determine whether he
intended to surrender quietly or to fight. Ajax adjusted his glasses,
and glanced through them. Then, with an exclamation, he handed them to
me.

"Kin ye make him out, boys?" asked our neighbour.

"Yes," said I, giving back the glasses to Ajax. He handed them in
silence to old man Dumble. Then, instinctively, both our right hands
went to our belts. We were not quite sure what a father might do.

He did what should have been expected--and avoided. He dropped the
binoculars. Then he turned to us, trembling, livid--a scarecrow of the
man we knew;

"It's my boy," he said hoarsely. "And I thought he was the best boy in
the county. Oh God!"

A minute may have passed, not more. One guesses that in that brief
time the unhappy father saw clearly the inevitable consequences of his
own roguery and sharp practice. He had sowed, broadcast, innumerable,
nameless little frauds; he reaped a big crime. I looked across those
dreary alkaline plains and out of the lovely blue haze beyond I seemed
to see the Dumbles' spring wagon rolling to church. Mrs. Dumble's
pale, impassive face was turned