man writhed round, feeling no pain, but
conscious of a horrible numbness across his back and abdomen.

"When it hits my heart I'm done," he muttered. "Guess I'll go over and
keep Tony company."

Inch by inch he dragged himself across the sand. Tony Brewster lay on
his back. High Chin touched him; felt of the limp arm, and gazed
curiously at the blue-edged hole in his brother's chest. With awful
labor that brought a clammy moisture to his face, he managed to drag
himself close to his brother and writhe round to a position where he
could sit up, braced against the other's body. He gazed out across the
desert. It had been a fast fight. Waring was done for. High Chin
wondered how long he would last. The sun was near the horizon. It seemed
only a few minutes ago that the sun had been directly overhead and he
and his brothers had been cursing the heat. It was growing cold. He
shivered. A long shadow reached out toward him from the bank of the
arroyo. In a few minutes it would touch him. Then would come night and
the stars. The numbness was creeping toward his chest. He could not
breathe freely. He moved his arms. _They_ were alive yet. He opened and
closed his fingers, gazing at them curiously. It was a strange thing
that a man should die like this; a little at a time, and not suffer much
pain. The fading flame of his old recklessness flared up.

"I'm goin' across," he said. "But, by God, I'm takin' Jim Waring with
me!"

He glanced toward the buckskin horse that stood so patiently beside that
silent figure out there. Waring was done for. High Chin blinked. A long
shaft of sunlight spread across the sand, and in the glow High Chin saw
that the horse was moving toward him. He stared for a few seconds. Then
he screamed horribly.

Waring, his hand gripping the stirrup, was dragging across the sand
beside the horse that stepped sideways and carefully as Waring urged him
on. Dex worked nearer to High Chin, but so slowly that High Chin thought
it was some horrible phantasy sent to awaken fear in his dulled brain.
But that dragging figure, white-faced and terrible--that was real!
Within a few paces of High Chin, Dex stopped and turned his head to look
down at Waring. And Waring, swaying up on his hands, laughed wildly.

"I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun--" He collapsed and lay
still.

High Chin sat staring dully at the gunman's uncovered head. The horse
sniffed at Waring. High Chin's jaw sagged. He slumped down