But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring’s mind.  “We’ll keep on, amigo,” he said, “and in a few hours we’ll know whether it’s to be a ride or a fight.”

“I shall pray,” whispered Ramon.

“For a fresh horse, then.”

“No, senor.  That would be of no use.  I shall pray that you may escape.  As for me—­”

“We’ll hit the glory trail together, muchacho.  If you get bumped off, it’s your own funeral.  You should have stayed in Sonora.”

Ramon sighed.  The senor was a strange man.  Even now he hummed a song in the starlight.  Was he, then, so unafraid of death that he could sing in the very shadow of its wings?

“You’ve got a hunch that the rurales are on our trail,” said Waring, as they rode on.

“It is so, senor.”

“How do you know?”

“I cannot say.  But it is so.  They have left the railroad and are following us.”

Waring smiled in the dark.  “Dex, here, has been trying to tell me that for an hour.”

“And still the senor does not hasten!”

“I am giving your cayuse a chance to make the grade.  We’ll ride an hour longer.”

Ramon bowed his head.  The horses plodded on, working up the first gentle slope of the foothills.  The brush loomed heavier.  A hill star faded on the edge of the higher range.  Ramon’s lips moved and he crossed himself.

Waring hummed a song.  He was not unhappy.  The tang of life was his again.  Again he followed a trail down which the light feet of Romance ran swiftly.  The past, with its red flare of life, its keen memories and dulled regrets, was swept away by the promise of dawn and the unknown.  “A clean break and a hard fight,” he murmured, as he reined up to rest his horse.  Turning, he could distinguish Ramon, who fingered the crucifix at his throat.  Waring’s face grew grim.  He felt suddenly accountable for the boy’s life.

The half-moon glowed against the edge of the world.  About to ride on again, Waring saw a tiny group of horsemen silhouetted against the half-disk of burning silver.  He spoke to his horse.  Slowly they climbed the ridge, dropped down the eastern slope, and climbed again.

In a shallow valley, Waring reined up, unsaddled Dex, and turned him loose.  Ramon questioned this.  “Turn your horse loose,” said Waring.  “They’ll keep together and find water.”

Ramon shook his head, but did as he was told.  Wearily he followed Waring as he climbed back to a rocky depression on the crest.  Without a word Waring stretched behind a rock and was soon asleep.  Ramon wondered at the other’s indifference to danger, but fatigue finally overcame him and he slept.

Just before dawn Ramon awakened and touched

Waring.  “They are coming!” he whispered.

Waring shook his head.  “You hear our horses.  The rurales won’t ride into this pocket before daylight.  Stay right here till I come back.”