cowboy. At once
Shefford remembered what Presbrey had said about half-breeds. A little
shock, inexplicable to Shefford, rippled over him.

He greeted his visitor, but received no answer. Shefford saw a dark,
squat figure bending forward in the saddle. The man was tense. All about
him was dark except the glint of a rifle across the saddle. The face
under the sombrero was only a shadow. Shefford kicked the fire-logs and
a brighter blaze lightened the scene. Then he saw this stranger a little
more clearly, and made out an unusually large head, broad dark face, a
sinister tight-shut mouth, and gleaming black eyes.

Those eyes were unmistakably hostile. They roved searchingly over
Shefford's pack and then over his person. Shefford felt for the gun that
Presbrey had given him. But it was gone. He had left it back where he
had lost his horse, and had not thought of it since. Then a strange,
slow-coming cold agitation possessed Shefford. Something gripped his
throat.

Suddenly Shefford was stricken at a menacing movement on the part of
the horseman. He had drawn a gun. Shefford saw it shine darkly in the
firelight. The Indian meant to murder him. Shefford saw the grim, dark
face in a kind of horrible amaze. He felt the meaning of that drawn
weapon as he had never felt anything before in his life. And he
collapsed back into his seat with an icy, sickening terror. In a second
he was dripping wet with cold sweat. Lightning-swift thoughts flashed
through his mind. It had been one of his platitudes that he was not
afraid of death. Yet here he was a shaking, helpless coward. What had
he learned about either life or death? Would this dark savage plunge
him into the unknown? It was then that Shefford realized his hollow
philosophy and the bitter-sweetness of life. He had a brain and a soul,
and between them he might have worked out his salvation. But what were
they to this ruthless night-wanderer, this raw and horrible wildness of
the desert?

Incapable of voluntary movement, with tongue cleaving to the roof of his
mouth, Shefford watched the horseman and the half-poised gun. It was not
yet leveled. Then it dawned upon Shefford that the stranger's head was
turned a little, his ear to the wind. He was listening. His horse was
listening. Suddenly he straightened up, wheeled his horse, and trotted
away into the darkness. But he did not climb the ridge down which he had
come.

Shefford heard the click of hoofs upon the stony trail. O