“So everything is clear.  Everything is coming out right.  John Prather and I change places, as nature intended that we should.  You need have no apprehensions on my account.  Though I had not a cent in the world I could make my living out here—­a very sweet thought, this, to me, with its promise of something real and practical and worth while, at which I can make good.  I know that you are going to keep the bargain that Prather and I have made; and think of me as over the pass and very happy as I write this, in the confidence that at last all accounts have been balanced and we can both turn to a fresh page in the ledger.  JACK.”

When Jack, after he had received the transfer, gave the letter to Prather to read, Prather was transfixed with incredulity.

“You mean this?” he gasped blankly, as his surprise became articulate.

“Yes.  You have quite the better of King Richard—­you gain both the kingdom and the horse.”

“The store, yes, the store—­mine!  Mine—­the store!” said Prather, in a slow, passionate monotone, his fingers trembling with the very triumph of possession as he thrust the letter into his pocket.  “The store, yes, the store!” he repeated, amazement mixed with exultation.  “But—­” his keen, practical mind was recovering its balance; he was on guard again.  Between him and the realization of his inheritance lay the shadow of the fear of the miles in the night.  “But—­there is no trick?” he hazarded in suspicion.

“No!”

Jack spoke in such a way that it removed the last doubt for Prather, who kneaded his palms together in a kind of frenzy, oblivious of all except the moneyed prospect of the kingdom craved that had become a kingdom won.

“How long before I start?” he asked.

“As soon as the first darkness settles and before the moon rises.”

“I shall need some food,” Prather went on ingratiatingly.  “And they say wounds bring on fever.  Have you any water to drink on the way?”

“We will fix you up the best we can.  I will divide what water remains between you and P.D.  He shall have his share now and you can drink yours later.”

The sun had set.  The afterglow was fading, and in a few minutes, when the light was quite out of the heavens, Jack announced that it was time for Prather to start.

“How shall I know the direction?” Prather asked.

“Trust P.D.  He will find it,” said Jack.  He held the stirrup for Prather to mount with the relief of freeing himself at last from the clinging touch of the phantoms.  “You are perfectly safe.  In two days you will be mounting the steps of a Pullman on your way to New York.”

“And you?  What—­what are you going to do?” Prather inquired hectically, with a momentary qualm of shame.

“Why, if Firio and I are to have water to make coffee for breakfast we must take the water-hole!” Jack answered, as if this were a thing of minor importance beside seeing Prather safely on his way.  “Be sure not to overwater P.D. after the night’s ride, and don’t overdo him on the final stretch, and turn him over to Galway when you arrive.  Home, P.D.!  Home!” he concluded, striking that good soldier with the flat of his hand on the buttocks.  And P.D. trotted away into the night.