er chance. Your friends won't recognize your remains when I'm
done with you."

Venomous and impassioned, all the hate in the man's heart flowed forth
in a fuming stream. For hate and murderous desire was all that was
left him in the wreck of life caused by the engineer. If he could no
longer rule, he could at least destroy.

Weir had made no response to the fierce imprecations. He was working
his hands upward, straining his arms so as to reach Sorenson's head.

"When the coyotes are gnawing your skull," Sorenson went on, raging,
"when the worms are feeding on you----"

The words died in a gurgle of pain. Weir's hands had closed about his
temples, a finger sunk in each eye, forcing his head back. Sorenson
shook himself frantically to break the torturing hold. His head went
farther and farther back as if it seemed his neck would snap; his
mouth opened to gasp, "Oh, God!" and all at once his hug slipped
apart.

Instantly Weir tripped him, falling on top. Reaching out like a flash
he seized his pistol lying on the ground and brought it down on the
head of his enemy, who momentarily blinded and suffering could not
resist. Sorenson went limp. From the savage beast of a minute before
he had been changed to a huge, motionless, sprawling figure, with face
upturned to the moon.

And on that face the victor of the life and death struggle could still
behold, through the contorted lines stamped by pain, the man's brutal
passion and fixed malevolence.

Weir arose.

"You felt the hound of hell's teeth," he muttered.

With thongs from one of the saddles he bound Sorenson's hands, pulling
the knots tight and hard. The prostrate man moaned, opened his eyes.
Weir jerked him dazed and staggering to his feet.

"Up into the saddle with you if you don't want another rap on the
head," Steele ordered, bruskly. "And go straight this time. From now
on I'll take you at your word and put a hole through your black heart
if you try any more tricks."

When his prisoner was mounted, he fastened his ankles together by
another thong under the belly of the pony. Weir was taking no chances.
Up into his own saddle then he swung himself.

No exultant curses now came from his captive's lips.

CHAPTER XXXI

A FINAL CHALLENGE

The hour was drawing near midnight when Weir and his prisoner entered
the town. Most of the women and children of the crowd of Mexicans had
gone to their homes, but men yet remained before the court house and