was
light enough now to see that her eyes were bloodshot, and her
movements quick with a final desperation.

"There!" she said and motioned towards a shelving place in the rock,
"there--medicine--all quick!"

She half lifted the staggering, unconscious Indian, and Kit,
perceiving her intention, helped her with Miguel to the shallow edge
of the basin where she rolled him over until he was submerged to the
shoulder in the shallow bath, cupping her hands she scooped water and
drenched his face.

"Why,--it's warm!" muttered Kit.

"Medicine," said Tula, and staggered away.

How Rhodes shed his own garments and slipped into the basin beside
Miguel he never knew, only he knew he had found an early substitute
for heaven. It was warm sulphur water,--tonic, refreshing and
infinitely soothing to every sore muscle and every frazzled nerve. He
ducked his head in it, tossed some more over the head and shoulders of
the sleeping Indian, and then, submerged to his arms, he promptly
drifted into slumber himself.

He wakened to the sound of Baby Bunting pawing around the grub pack.
Hunger was his next conviction, for the heavenly rest in the medicine
bath had taken every vestige of weariness away. He felt lethargic from
the sulphur fumes, and more sleep was an enticing thought, yet he put
it from him and got into his clothes after the use of a handkerchief
as a bath towel. Miguel still slept and Kit bent over him in some
concern, for the sleep appeared curiously deep and still, the breath
coming lightly, yet he did not waken when lifted out of the water and
covered with a poncho in the shade of a great yucca.

"I reckon it's some dope in these hot springs," decided Kit. "I feel
top heavy myself, and won't trouble him till I've rustled some grub
and have something to offer. Well, Buntin', we are all here but the
daughter of the Glen," he said, rescuing the grub sack, "and if she
was a dream and you inveigled me here by your own diabolical powers,
I've a hunch this is our graveyard; we'll never see the world and its
vanities again!"

A bit of the blue and scarlet on a bush above caught his eye. It was
the belt of Tula, and he went upwards vaguely disturbed that he had
drifted into ease without question of her welfare.

He found her emerging from a smaller rock basin, her one garment
dripping a wet trail as she came towards him. There was no smile in
her greeting, but a look of content, of achievement.

"My father," she said, "