d
jes' where them claims is located. The Rurales won't be along fer an
hour yet, if they hain't turned back after our other party."

McKee pulled off Lane's boots. "It 'ain't decent fer a man to die with
'em on," he said. He then kindled a fire on the stone, beneath which,
if he but knew it, lay the treasure he sought. He returned with a
burning brand to the captive. For the first time he observed the snake
impaled on the sahuaro, writhing but feebly. "Hullo, ole rattler," he
exclaimed; "here's somethin' to stir you up;" and he tossed the brand
upon the top of the cactus.

Taking another burning stick from the fire, he applied it to the soles
of his victim's feet. Lane writhed and groaned under the excruciating
torture, but uttered no word or cry. McKee brought other brands, and
began piling them about his captive's feet.

In the meantime the sahuaro had caught fire at the top, and was burning
down through the interior. A thin column of smoke rose straight above
it in the still air. The Rurales in the valley below, who had reached
the beginning of the ascending trail, and were on the point of giving
up the pursuit, saw the smoke, and, inferred that the Apaches, either
through overconfidence or because of their superstitious fear of the
mountains, which they supposed inhabited by spirits, had camped on the
edge of the valley, and were signaling to their other party.
Accordingly the Mexicans renewed the chase with increased vigor.

As McKee bent over his captive's feet, piling against them the burning
ends of the sticks, the rattlesnake on the sahuaro, incited by the fire
above, struggled free from the impaling thorns by a desperate effort,
and dropped on the back of the half-breed. It struck its fangs into
his neck. McKee, springing up with an energy that scattered the sticks
he was piling, tore the reptile loose, hurled it upon the ground, and
stamped it into the earth. Then he picked up one of the brands and
with it cauterized the wound. All the while he was cursing
volubly--the snake, himself, and even Dick Lane, who was now lying in a
dead faint caused by the torture.

"Damn such a prospector! Not a drop of whisky in his outfit! I'd slit
his tongue fer him if he wasn't already done fer. I must keep
movin'--movin', or I'm a dead man. I must hustle along to the
mountains, leadin' my horse. Up there I'll find yarbs to cure
snake-bite that my Cherokee grandmother showed me. The Rurales will
have