“Dearest, I’m going—­soon....And maybe I’ll never—­”

“Dick, do—­don’t say it,” sobbed Nell, with her head on his breast.

“I might never come back,” he went on, steadily.  “I love you—­I’ve loved you ever since the first moment I saw you.  Do you care for me—­a little?”

“Dear Dick—­de-dear Dick, my heart is breaking,” faltered Nell, as she clung to him.

“It might be breaking for Mercedes—­for Laddy and Jim.  I want to hear something for myself.  Something to have on long marches—­round lonely campfires.  Something to keep my spirit alive.  Oh, Nell, you can’t imagine that silence out there—­that terrible world of sand and stone!...Do you love me?”

“Yes, yes.  Oh, I love you so!  I never knew it till now.  I love you so.  Dick, I’ll be safe and I’ll wait—­and hope and pray for your return.”

“If I come back—­no—­when I come back, will you marry me?”

“I—­I—­oh yes!” she whispered, and returned his kiss.

Belding was in the room speaking softly.

“Nell, darling, I must go,” said Dick.

“I’m a selfish little coward,” cried Nell.  “It’s so splendid of you all.  I ought to glory in it, but I can’t. ...Fight if you must, Dick.  Fight for that lovely persecuted girl.  I’ll love you—­the more....Oh!  Good-by!  Good-by!”

With a wrench that shook him Gale let her go.  He heard
Belding’s soft voice.

“Yaqui says the early hour’s best.  Trust him, Laddy.  Remember what I say—­Yaqui’s a godsend.”

Then they were all outside in the pale gloom under the trees.  Yaqui mounted Blanco Diablo; Mercedes was lifted upon White Woman; Thorne climbed astride Queen; Jim Lash was already upon his horse, which was as white as the others but bore no name; Ladd mounted the stallion Blanco Torres, and gathered up the long halters of the two pack horses; Gale came last with Blanco Sol.

As he toed the stirrup, hand on mane and pommel, Gale took one more look in at the door.  Nell stood in the gleam of light, her hair shining, face like ashes, her eyes dark, her lips parted, her arms outstretched.  That sweet and tragic picture etched its cruel outlines into Gale’s heart.  He waved his hand and then fiercely leaped into the saddle.

Blanco Sol stepped out.

Before Gale stretched a line of moving horses, white against dark shadows.  He could not see the head of that column; he scarcely heard a soft hoofbeat.  A single star shone out of a rift in thin clouds.  There was no wind.  The air was cold.  The dark space of desert seemed to yawn.  To the left across the river flickered a few campfires.  The chill night, silent and mystical, seemed to close in upon Gale; and he faced the wide, quivering, black level with keen eyes and grim intent, and an awakening of that wild rapture which came like a spell to him in the open desert.

XI