poils they could have. Offer what he would, Goodnight could
find no one at the Fort bold enough to ride through alone and fetch a
surgeon. He finally raised his offer to a thousand dollars for any one
who would make the trip. It was a great prize, but the danger was
greater than the prize. No one responded. To go himself was
impossible; their contract must be fulfilled.

At this juncture a hero appeared. His name was Scot Moore. Moore was
the contractor then furnishing wood and hay to the post. Coming in
from one of his camps and learning of the dilemma, himself a friend of
Loving, he instantly went to Goodnight.

"Charlie," he said, "why in the world did you not send for me before?
Joe shall not die here like a dog if I can save him. I've got a young
Kentucky saddle mare here that's the fastest thing on the Pecos. I'll
be in Vegas by sun-up to-morrow morning, and I'll be back here sometime
to-morrow night with a doctor, if the Navajos don't get us. Pay? Pay
be damned. I'm doin' it for old Joe; he'd go for me in a minute. If
I'm not back by nine o'clock to-morrow night, Charlie, send another
messenger and just tell old Joe that Scot did his best."

"It's mighty good of you, Scot," replied Goodnight, "I never will
forget it, nor will Joe. You know I'd go myself if I could."

"That's all right, pardner," said Scot. "Just come over to my camp a
spell and look over some papers I want you to attend to if I don't show
up."

And they strolled away. Officers and other bystanders shook their
heads sadly.

"Devilish pity old Scot had to come in."

"Might 'a known nobody could hold him from goin'."

"He'll make Vegas all right in a night run if the mare don't give out,
but God help him when he starts back with a doctor in a wagon; ain't
one chance in a thousand he'll got through."

"Well, if any man on earth can make it, bet your _alce_ Scot will."

These were some of the comments. Scot Moore was known and loved from
Chihuahua to Fort Lyon. One of the biggest-hearted, most amiable and
generous of men, ha was known as the coolest and most utterly fearless
in a country where few men were cowards.

At nightfall, the mare well fed and groomed and lightly saddled, Scot
mounted, bearing no arms but his two pistols, called a careless "_Hasta
luego, amigos_" to his friends, and trotted off up the road. For two
hours he jogged along easily over the sandy stretches beyond the Bosque
Redondo. Then getting ou