The outlaw rallied his failing strength and raised himself up on one hand.  He could barely speak, but his lips attempted a smile.

“I thought I heard you—­call fer the joker,” he said, “and so—­I come.”

Van was up.  He saw that the man had been literally shot to pieces.  One of his arms was broken.  A portion of his scalp was gone.  He was pierced in the body and leg.  He had met the posse, fought his fight, escaped with wounds that must have stopped any animal on earth, and then had dragged himself to Van, to repay his final debt.

“I haven’t called—­I haven’t called for anything,” said Van.  “You’re wounded, man, you’re——­”

Barger rose up weakly to his knees.

“Need the money, don’t you—­now?” he interrupted.  “You can—­use the reward, I guess.”

“Good God, I don’t want that kind of money!” Van exclaimed.  “Who got you, Matt—­who got you?”

“Sheriff,” said the convict dispassionately.  “Good man, Christler—­and a pretty good shot—­but I got away with his lead.”

He slumped again, like a waxen thing on melting props, deprived of all support.

Van plunged out to the water bench, with its bucket, near the door.  He brought back a basin of water, knelt on the ground, and bathed the convict’s face.  He poured some liquor between the dead-white lips.  He slashed and unbuttoned the clothing and tried to staunch the wounds.  He bound up the arm, put a bandage on the leg and body, continuing from time to time to dash cold water in the pallid, bearded face.

Barger had fainted at last.  What hideous tortures the fellow had endured to drag and drive himself across the mountain roughnesses to win to this tent, Van could but weakly imagine.

The convict finally opened his eyes and blinked in the light of the candle.

“What in hell—­was the use of my comin’ here,” he faltered, “if you don’t take the money—­the reward?”

“I don’t want it!” said Van.  “I told you that before.”

Barger spoke with difficulty.

“It’s different now; they’ve—­got you in a hole.  Van Buren, I’m your meat!  I’m—­nuthin’ but meat, but you acted—­as if I was a man!”

“We’re all in a hole—­it’s life,” said Van, continuing his attentions to the wounds.  “I don’t want a cent of blood-money, Matt, if I have to starve on the desert.  Now lie where you are, and maybe go to sleep.  You won’t be disturbed here till morning.”

“By mornin’—­all hell can’t—­disturb me,” Barger told him painfully, with something like a ghastly smile upon his lips.  “I’m goin’—­there to see.”

He lapsed off again into coma.  Van feared the man was dead.  But having lived a stubborn life, Barger relinquished his hold unwillingly, despite his having ceased at last to care.

For nearly an hour Van worked above him, on the ground.  Then the man not only aroused as before, but sat up, propped on his arm.