at the spring. Here they rested
and ate. The night was already far advanced and glorious with its
blazing stars, and they did not tarry long. In half an hour they moved
on again. As day was breaking Kish Taka led the way up a steep-sided
mesa and, catching Howard's arm, pointed out toward the east.

'Here we turn,' he explained. 'Not so far that way, maybe two hours,
we find more water. Then we go that way,' and he indicated that they
must bear off a little to the south, 'and more water. Then we sleep in
shade. Then at night, not too far, see your place.'

It came about that all that Kish Taka had predicted was so. They found
water; they spent the long day in the shade of some stunted trees; they
ate all but a few scraps of their food; they went on again at sundown.
In the pink flush of another dawn they stood together on the uplands
back of Last Ridge and saw before them and below them the green of
Desert Valley. In the foreground, a thin wisp of smoke arose from the
spot where the Longstreets were camped.

'Kish Taka go back now.' The Indian stood, arms folded across his
gaunt chest, eyes hard on Howard's. 'Back to the Bad Lands to sit
down. Soon Kish Taka's dog comes and with him a man. And while he
waits, Kish Taka will make many stones piled up on his brother.'

He swung on his heel to go. But Howard caught at his arm.

'Wait,' he said. 'Two things! One, where that fire is are two people.
An old man and a girl. They are my friends, Kish Taka.'

Kish Taka nodded.

'My frien's,' he said simply.

'The other thing,' said Howard. 'Kish Taka, hungry, killed my calves.
He left gold. When again Kish Taka is hungry, let him kill as many
calves as he pleases. But let him keep his gold.'

Again the Indian nodded. And this time Howard let him go.

The Indian went back toward the Bad Lands, swift, silent, and in a
little was lost in the distance. He did not once turn. Howard
withdrew his eyes and sent them questing down toward the wisp of smoke.
His thoughts were wandering. And last they winged to Jim Courtot.

'Jim Courtot,' he muttered under his breath, as though the man were
with him, and as he saw fancied visions of things to be, 'I have it in
my heart to be almost sorry for you.'

Then he shrugged, filled his lungs with the fresh clean cool air which
rose up across the miles from his own pastures and set his feet into
the trail that would lead home--by way of the Longstreets. Now he