foiled him, and a crushing blow on the
head felled him to the ground. And as he fell some great noise roared
in his ears, or so it seemed, and echoed and reechoed through his
head. Then he knew no more.

All sound was lost in the deluge of rain. The sky was unrelieved by
any further flashes of light for many minutes. Then, at last, one
came. A weak, distant lighting up of the clouds, overhead, but it was
sufficient to show the outstretched form of the stricken man lying
with his white face staring up at the sky. Also it revealed a shadowy
figure bending over him. There was no face visible, no distinct
outline of form. And this figure was moving, and appeared to be
testing the lifeless condition of the fallen man.

Half an hour later the rain ceased, but the water was still racing
down the hill in little trickling rivulets toward the ranch buildings.
And as rapidly as the storm had come up so the sky cleared. Again the
stars shone out and a faint radiance dimly outlined the scene of the
attack.

Within fifty yards of the rancher's house Tresler was still stretched
out upon the ground, but now a different figure was bending over him.
It was a well-defined figure this time, a familiar figure. A little
man with a gray head and a twisted face.

It was Joe Nelson trying, by every rough art his prairie life had
taught him, to restore animation and consciousness in his friend. For
a long time his efforts were unavailing; the task seemed hopeless.
Then, when the little man had begun to fear the very worst, his
patient suddenly moved and threw out his legs convulsively. Once the
springs of life had been set in motion, the hardy constitution
asserted itself, and, without further warning, Tresler sat bolt
upright and stared about him wonderingly. For a few seconds he sat
thus, then, with a movement of intense agony, one hand went up to his
head.

"My God! What's the matter with me? My head!"

He slowly rocked himself for a brief spell; then, with another start,
he recognized his friend, and, with an effort, sprang to his feet.

"Joe!" he cried. Then he reeled and would have fallen but for the
supporting arm about his waist.

"You wer' nigh 'done up.' Say, I wus kind o' rattled. I'd shaddered
that feller fer an hour or more, an' then lost him. Gee!" And there
was an infinite expression of disgust in the exclamation.

"Him! Who?"

"Ther's on'y one feller around here hatin' you fit to murder, I
guess."

"You mean--Jake