sky,
endeavoring to think, to understand--where was he? How had he come
there? Was Hawley alive also? A face bent over him, the features faintly
visible in the flash of firelight. His dull eyes lit up in sudden
recollection.

"Doc! is that you?"

"Sure, old man," the pudgy fingers feeling his pulse, the gray eyes
twinkling. "Narrow squeak you had--going to pull through all right,
though--no sign of fever."

"Where am I?"

"At the water-hole; sling you in a blanket, and get you into Larned
to-morrow."

There was a moment's silence, Keith finding it hard to speak.

"Hawley--?" he whispered at last.

"Oh, don't worry; you got him all right. Say," his voice sobering,
"maybe it was just as well you took that job. If it had been me I would
have been in bad."

The wounded man's eyes questioned.

"It's a bad mix-up, Keith. Waite never told us all of it. I reckon he
didn't want her to know, and she never shall, if I can help it. I Ve
been looking over some papers in his pocket--he'd likely been after them
this trip--and his name ain't Hawley. He's Bartlett Gale, Christie's
father."

Keith could not seem to grasp the thought, his eyes half-closed.

"Her--her father?" ne questioned, weakly. "Do you suppose he knew?"

"No; not at first, anyhow; not at Sheridan. He was too interested in his
scheme to even suspicion he had actually stumbled onto the real girl. I
think he just found out."

A coyote howled somewhere in the darkness, a melancholy chorus joining
in with long-drawn cadence. A shadow swept into the radius of dancing
firelight.

"Is he conscious, Doctor?"

Fairbain drew back silently, and she dropped on her knees at Keith's
side, bending low to look into his face.

"Hope--Hope."

"Yes, dear, and you are going to live now--live for me."

He found her hand, and held it, clasped within his own, his eyes wide
open.

"I have never told you," he said, softly, "how much I love you."

She bent lower until her cheek touched his.

"No, Jack, but you may now."

THE END

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