ly within touch of his hand;
around and about him pressed a dense wall that gave no hint of his
whereabouts. Yet he believed that he was pursuing the right direction;
and, forgetting that Pat, no more than himself, knew the route, he gave
the horse loose rein. Thus for an hour, two hours, three, he rode slowly
forward, when like a flash it came to him that he was hopelessly lost.
He reined in the horse sharply.

For a time he sat trying to place himself. Failing in this, he raised
his eyes, hoping for a break in the skies. But there was no glimmer of
light, and after a while, not knowing what else to do, he sent Pat
forward again. But his uneasiness would not down, and presently he drew
rein again, dismounted, and fell to listening. There was not a breath of
air. He took a step forward, his uneasiness becoming fear, and again
stood motionless, listening, gripped by the oppressive stillness of the
desert. It crept upon him, this death-quiet, seemed to close about him
suffocatingly. Suddenly he started. Out of the dense blackness had come
a voice, weak and plaintive. He turned tense with excitement and
listened keenly.

"Hello, there! This--over this way!"

He could see nothing; but he moved in the direction of the voice. After
a few strides he was stopped by a consciousness of something before him,
and there was a constrained groan.

"Careful, man--I'm hurt. Unhorsed this morning. Been crawling all day
for shade. Strike a match, will you? God! but it's a night!"

Stephen struck a light. As it flared up he saw prone in the sand a young
man, his face drawn with pain, his eyes dark and hunted. The match went
out. He struck another. The man was pitifully bruised and broken. A leg
of his trousers had been torn away, and the limb lay exposed, strangely
twisted. His track, made in crawling through the sand, stood out
clearly, trailing away beyond the circling glow of light. A moment of
flickering, and the second match went out.

"Which way were you headed, friend?" Stephen asked, pityingly. His heart
went out to the stricken stranger. He wanted to ask another question,
too, but he hesitated. But finally he asked it. "Who are you, old man?"

For a moment the fellow did not reply. The silence was oppressive.
Stephen regretted his question. Then suddenly the man answered him,
weakly, bitterly, as one utterly remorseful.

"I'm Jim," he blurted out. "Horse-thief, cattle-rustler."

Stephen bit his lip. More than ever he reg