problem they sought to solve.

Hour after hour Tresler lay awake, lost in a confusion of thought
which refused his best efforts to straighten out. The acuteness of the
pain in his head set his mind almost wandering. And he found himself
aimlessly reviewing the events since his coming to Mosquito Bend. He
tossed wearily, drearily, on his unyielding palliasse, driven to a
realization of his own utter impotence. What had he done in the cause
he had espoused? Nothing--simply nothing. Worse; he had thrust himself
like some clumsy, bull-headed elephant, into the girl's life, into the
midst of her troubles, without even that animal's capacity for
attaining his object by sheer might. And the result was only to
aggravate her lot; to cause Jake to hasten his plans, and add threats
to his other persecutions. And as for the raiders, they were still at
large and no nearer capture than when he had first arrived. Yes, he
told himself, he had nothing but failure to his account. And that
failure, instead of being harmlessly negative, was an aggravation of
the situation.

But at last, miserable, overwrought, and suffering as he was, sleep
came to him; a deep sleep that carried him far into the morning.

He had been left undisturbed by his comrades when they turned out at
daybreak. Joe had seen to this. He had put them off with an invention
of his fertile imagination which satisfied them. Then, having hurried
through his own immediate morning duties, he waited, with that
philosophic patience which he applied now in his declining years to
all the greater issues of his life, for his friend's awakening.

And when Tresler awoke he was wonderfully refreshed. His recuperative
faculties were remarkable. The aching of his head had passed away, and
with it the deplorable hopelessness of overnight. He sat up on his
bunk, and the first object that his gaze fell upon was the patient
figure of old Joe.

"Well--Scott! it's late. What's the time? Where are the boys? What are
you doing here?"

He fired his questions rapidly. But Joe was not to be hurried; neither
was he going to waste precious time on unnecessary talk. So he
shrugged his shoulders and indicated the departure of the men to work
with a backward jerk of his head, and, while Tresler performed his
brief toilet, got to business in his own way.

"Feelin' good?" he asked.

"Fair."

"Goin' right up to see Jake?"

"Yes. Where is he?"

"In his shack. Say," the old man shifted uneas