he scenes of desolation around the grimly cold
volcano, alone, the old Indian made his last stand, and in a rude cabin,
beside a tiny spring that seeped from under the black rock on the
mountain-side, lived in splendid isolation--silent, brooding, desiring
only to be left in peace with his few ponies, his small herd of cattle
and the memories and traditions of his people.

The Ramblin' Kid and the lonely Navajo were friends since the Ramblin'
Kid could remember.

The aged Indian's face was pitted with horrible scars--marks of the same
disease that had cost the wandering cowboy his father and left him,
years ago, an orphan, almost worshiped, because of the sacrifice his
parent had made fighting the epidemic among the tribes of the Southwest.

Often the "Young Whirlwind"--the name by which the Indians knew the
Ramblin' Kid and which old Jake himself always called the cowboy--spent
a night, sometimes days, with his stoical friend among the lavas.

To him the cabin door was always open.

As Captain Jack, followed by the bullets from the marshal's revolver,
dashed madly down the street of Eagle Butte, instinctively the Ramblin'
Kid had turned the stallion toward the hut of the old Navajo.

The fugitive cowboy believed Sabota was dead.

Naturally the law would demand vengeance, even though the brutal Greek
had deserved to die. Posses, undoubtedly, would scour the country,
searching for his slayer. The Quarter Circle KT would be watched.

There was no regret in the heart of the Ramblin' Kid. Instead he felt a
strange elation. With his fists and heels he had beaten the giant Greek
into a lifeless mass!

"'Ign'rant--savage--stupid--brute!" he muttered as Captain Jack sped
from the scene of fight; "I reckon she _was pretty near right!_"

At gray dawn he swung down from the back of the little stallion at the
door of the Indian's hut.

Old Jake asked no questions.

The Ramblin' Kid himself volunteered:

"Killed a man--Sabota--got to lay low, Jake--some three, four, five
days! Then I go--south--Mexico!"

"The Young Whirlwind had cause?" the Navajo grunted sententiously.

"Sure--plenty!" the Ramblin' Kid laughed, slipping his hand to his
breast pocket and caressing the pink satin garter.

"It is good," the Indian said. "The Navajo will watch!"

For seven days the Ramblin' Kid rested, securely, in the lonely hut
among the lavas and "pot-holes" of the desert. Then he saddled Captain
Jack and when the full shadow of