d snapped, and while one bronco still stood trembling
on its feet the other lay inert amidst a tangle of harness. The man's
face grew a trifle grimmer as he threw the light upon it, and then
stooping glanced at one doubled leg. It was evident that fate which
did nothing by halves had dealt him a crushing blow. The last faint
hope he clung to had vanished now.

He was, however, a humane man, and considerate of the beasts that
worked for him, and accordingly thrust his hand inside the old fur coat
when he had loosed the uninjured horse, and drew out a long-bladed
knife. Then he knelt, and setting down the lantern, felt for the place
to strike. When he found it his courage almost deserted him, and
meeting the eyes that seemed to look up at him with dumb appeal, turned
his head away. Still, he was a man who would not shirk a painful duty,
and shaking off the sense of revulsion turned again and stroked the
beast's head.

"It's all I can do for you," he said.

Then his arm came down and a tremor ran through the quivering frame,
while Winston set his lips tightly as his hand grew warm. The thing
was horrible to him, but the life he led had taught him the folly of
weakness, and he was too pitiful to let his squeamishness overcome him.

Still, he shivered when it was done, and rubbing the knife in the
withered leaves, rose, and made shift to gird a rug about the uninjured
horse. Then he cut the reins and tied them, and mounting without
stirrups rode towards the bridge. The horse went quietly enough now,
and the man allowed it to choose its way. He was going home to find
shelter from the cold, because his animal instincts prompted him, but
otherwise almost without volition, in a state of dispassionate
indifference. Nothing more, he fancied, could well befall him.

CHAPTER II

LANCE COURTHORNE

It was late when Winston reached his log-built house, but he set out
once more with his remaining horse before the lingering daylight crept
out of the east to haul the wagon home. He also spent most of the day
in repairing it, because occupation of any kind that would keep him
from unpleasant reflections appeared advisable, and to allow anything
to fall out of use was distasteful to him, although as the wagon had
been built for two horses he had little hope of driving it again. It
was a bitter, gray day with a low, smoky sky, and seemed very long to
Winston, but evening came at last, and he was left with nothing b