g the
words Duane detected a subtle change in the outlaw's spirit.

On this night travel was facilitated by the fact that the trail was
broad enough for two horses abreast, enabling Duane to ride while
upholding Stevens in the saddle.

The difficulty most persistent was in keeping the horses in a walk. They
were used to a trot, and that kind of gait would not do for Stevens.
The red died out of the west; a pale afterglow prevailed for a while;
darkness set in; then the broad expanse of blue darkened and the stars
brightened. After a while Stevens ceased talking and drooped in his
saddle. Duane kept the horses going, however, and the slow hours wore
away. Duane thought the quiet night would never break to dawn, that
there was no end to the melancholy, brooding plain. But at length a
grayness blotted out the stars and mantled the level of mesquite and
cactus.

Dawn caught the fugitives at a green camping-site on the bank of a rocky
little stream. Stevens fell a dead weight into Duane's arms, and one
look at the haggard face showed Duane that the outlaw had taken his last
ride. He knew it, too. Yet that cheerfulness prevailed.

"Buck, my feet are orful tired packin' them heavy boots," he said, and
seemed immensely relieved when Duane had removed them.

This matter of the outlaw's boots was strange, Duane thought. He made
Stevens as comfortable as possible, then attended to his own needs. And
the outlaw took up the thread of his conversation where he had left off
the night before.

"This trail splits up a ways from here, an' every branch of it leads
to a hole where you'll find men--a few, mebbe, like yourself--some like
me--an' gangs of no-good hoss-thieves, rustlers, an' such. It's easy
livin', Buck. I reckon, though, that you'll not find it easy. You'll
never mix in. You'll be a lone wolf. I seen that right off. Wal, if
a man can stand the loneliness, an' if he's quick on the draw, mebbe
lone-wolfin' it is the best. Shore I don't know. But these fellers in
here will be suspicious of a man who goes it alone. If they get a chance
they'll kill you."

Stevens asked for water several times. He had forgotten or he did not
want the whisky. His voice grew perceptibly weaker.

"Be quiet," said Duane. "Talking uses up your strength."

"Aw, I'll talk till--I'm done," he replied, doggedly. "See here, pard,
you can gamble on what I'm tellin' you. An' it'll be useful. From this
camp we'll--you'll meet men right along. An' no