Obviously, though already Jim Courtot had departed from Dry Gulch when Alan Howard came upon his agents, he was no less active than they with rich gains in sight.  It is to be doubted if the man slept at all during the first three days and nights.  He had made his own list of foods and tobaccos and alcohols; he had selected men for his work.  Down in San Juan men said:  ‘Jim Courtot is playing his luck again.’  For though information was garbled long before it reached the mission town, yet always it was understood that Jim Courtot was playing to win heavily—­he and Sanchia Murray.

Those hours which, in Sanchia’s Town, had been given over to frenzy and the fury of feverish endeavour, had dragged by wearily and anxiously for the inmates of Longstreet’s half-mile-distant cabin.  For both Monte Devine and Ed True the night was one of bitter rage and pain.  Longstreet was gentle with them, bringing them water, asking them often of their wants; Helen ministered to them silently, a strange new look in her eyes.  Often she went to the door and stood looking off into the moonlit night, across the rolling hills and down into the wide sweep of Desert Valley.  Carr remained with them all night.  It was as well to be on hand, he suggested, if anything happened.  He seemed scarcely conscious of the presence of the two wounded men; tilted back in his chair, smoking one cigar after another, he scarcely for an instant lost sight of Helen.

In the morning early there was the sound of hoofs and then men’s voices.  It was Carr who went to the door.

‘It is Bettins and a couple of other men,’ he said over his shoulder.  ‘Come for Devine and True, I guess.’  And still without turning, he demanded, ‘Ready to go, Monte?’

‘Damn right,’ said Monte.

Between Carr and Longstreet, Monte shambled to the door.  Here he was turned over to his friends, who got him into his saddle.  Then, assisted as Monte had been, and cursing at every step, Ed True passed through the door.  The men outside accepted the two wounded men with only a few low words; in another moment the five horses were carrying their riders slowly toward Sanchia’s Town.  Carr returning saw the whisk of Helen’s skirt as she disappeared within the little room partitioned off at the rear and knew that she had gone to fling herself down upon her bed.  He looked after her as though he still half hoped she were coming back if only to say a belated ‘good night.’  Then he and Longstreet made coffee and drank it perfunctorily.  After breakfast Carr left, saying that he would ride over to have a look at the new camp, and would drop in again some time during the afternoon.

‘If I am not making a nuisance of myself,’ he said as Longstreet followed him to the door, ’I should like to see what I can of you during the next few days.  And of Miss Helen,’ he added with utter frankness and clear meaning.  ’I have business which will call me back East before long.’