on the dust the pony raised collected upon the man’s clothes and upon his bare head; but apparently he noticed it not.  Shade by shade the mouse-coloured hair of the broncho grew darker from sweat, moistened until the man’s hand on the diminutive beast’s neck grew wet; but of this likewise he was unconscious.  Silent as fate, as nature the immovable, he sat his place; his lithe body conforming involuntarily to the motion, to the play of muscles beneath his legs; yet as unconsciously as one breathes in sleep.  Not until the sun was red in the west, until of its own accord the broncho had drawn up at the first bit of water they had met on the way—­a shallow marshy pond—­did he move.  Then, while the pony drank and drank his fill, the man washed his face and hands, and more from instinct than volition, shook the dust from his clothing.

For a half hour thereafter the rider did not mount.  Side by side the man and the beast moved ahead at a walk; but ever moved and ever southward.  Darkness fell swiftly.  There was no moon; but the sky was clear as it had been during the day, and the man needed no guide but the stars to show him the way.  As he moved the hand of the Indian remained on the broncho’s neck; and bit by bit as the time passed he felt the moist hair grow stiff and dry.  Then, and not until then, came the final move, the beginning of the last relay.  As when they had started, with one motion, apparently without an effort, he was once more in his seat; and again as at first, equally understandingly, equally willingly, that instant the broncho sprang into a lope.  Relentlessly, silent as before, a ghostly animate shadow, the two forged ahead into the night and the solitude.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, for the second time within the year, the C-C ranch had changed hands.  All day long Craig and the prospective buyer had driven about the place.  One by one the cowboys had given testimony of the fraction of the herd intrusted to their care.  At first resignedly complaisant, as the hours drifted by Craig had grown cumulatively impatient at the inevitably dragging inventory.  Nothing but necessity absolute in the shape of an imminent foreclosure had brought him back to this land at all.  Delay had followed delay until at last immediate action was imperative.  Then, having agreed to come personally, he was in a fever of haste to have the deal complete and to be away.  Since they had left the railroad and crossed the river the mood had been upon him.  The team that had brought them out could not move fast enough.  The preceding night, shortened by liquor as it had been, nevertheless dragged interminably.  Strive as he might to combat the impression, to ignore it, this land had of a sudden become to him a land of terror.  Every object which met his eye called forth a recollection.  Every minute that passed whispered a menace.  In a measure it had been so a half year ago ere he had tempted fate.  Now, with the knowledge of what