rangely enough, against the convict, Barger, the horseman felt no
wrath. Barger had a grievance, howsoever mistaken, that was adequate.
He was following his bent consistently. He had made his threat in the
open; he must plan out his work according to his wits. He was simply a
hunted beast, who turned upon his hunters.

It was Bostwick on whom Van concentrated a rising heat--and he promised
the man would find things warm in camp, and the fight only well under
way.

Even when the summit was achieved, the broncho slacked off nothing of
his pace. Sweat glistened wetly upon him. His bleeding ear was going
backward and forward tremulously, as he listened for any word from Van,
and for anything suspicious before them. Van noted a certain
wistfulness in the pony's demeanor.

"Take it easy, boy," he urged in a voice of affection that the broncho
understood. "Take it easy." He dismounted to lead the animal down the
slope, since a steep descent is far more trying on a ridden horse than
climbing up the grade. He halted to pat the pony on the neck, and give
his nose a rough caress, then on they went, the shadow they cast the
only shade upon the burning hill.

It was fully an hour after leaving the pass, where Barger had piled in
the rock, before the horseman and his broncho dropped again in the
trail that led onward to the river. Van was again in the saddle.
Alert for possible surprises, but assured that his man could find no
adequate cover hereabouts, he emerged from behind the last of the turns
all eagerness to give his horse a drink.

A yell broke suddenly, terribly, on the desert stillness. It came from
Barger, out in the river, on the bar--strangely anchored where he stood.

Van saw him instantly, saw a human fantastic, struggling, writhing,
twisting with maniacal might, the while the horrible quicksand held him
by the legs, and swallowed him, inch by inch.

"Fer Christ's sake--help!" the creature shrilled in his plight. He had
flung away revolvers, cartridges, even his coat, reducing his weight
when the stuff only gripped him by the ankles. He was half to his
thighs. He was sinking to his waist, and with all of his furious
efforts, the frightful sand was shuddering, as if in animal
ecstacy--some abominable ecstacy of hunger, voracious from long denial,
as it sucked him further down.

"Fer Christ's sake, Van Buren--fer Christ's sake, man! I'm a human
being," shrieked the victim of the sand. "_I'm a huma