ted all
his remaining strength in throttling the savage. But, just as the
tense form beneath him grew lax with evident unconsciousness, and head
fell limply back, extending over the edge of cliff, his own head was
jerked violently backward by a noose cast around his lacerated neck.

When Lane recovered consciousness he found himself lying on his back,
bound hand and foot by a lariat, and looking up into a grinning face
that he recognized.

"Buck McKee!" he gasped. "This is certainly white of you considering
the circumstances of our last meeting. Did you come with the Rurales?"

"Hell, no! I come ahead of 'em. In fact, Dick Lane, you air jist a
leetle bit off in your idees about which party I belong to. When you
damned me fer a thievin' half-breed, and run me off the range, an' tole
me to go to the Injun's, whar I belonged, I tuk yer advice. I'm what
you might call the rear-guard of the outfit you've jist been havin'
your shootin'-match with. Or I was the rear-guard, for you've wiped
out the whole dam' battalion, so fur as I can see. Served 'em right
fur detailin' me, the only decent shooter in the bunch, to watch the
horses. I got one shot in as it wuz. Well, as the last of the outfit,
I own a string of ten ponies. All I need now to set up in business is
to have some prospector who hain't long to live, leave me his little
pile uv dust an' nuggets, an' the claims he's located back in the
mountains. You look a leetle mite like the man. It'll save vallible
time if you make yer dear friend, Buck McKee, administrater uv yer
estate without too much persuadin'. You had some objection oncet to my
slittin' a calf's tongue. Well, you needn't be scared just yet.
That's the last thing I'll do to you. Come, where's your cache? I
know you've got one hereabouts, fer I foun' signs of the dust in your
pack."

Lane set his teeth in a firm resolutions not to say a word. The taunts
of his captor were harder to bear in silence than the prospects of
torture.

"Stubborn, hey? Well, we'll try a little 'Pache persuadin'." And the
renegade dragged his helpless captive up to the thorny sahuaro, and
bound his back against it with the dead horse's bridle. McKee searched
through Lane's pockets until he found a match.

"Last one, hey? Kinder 'propriate. Las' drink from the old canteen,
las' ca'tridge, last look at the scenery, and las' will an' testyment.
Oh, time's precious, but I'll spare you enough to map out in yer min