fortunately, the ranchman was merely stunned, not killed, by the ugly
fall he had taken when his horse so suddenly pitched forward and
tossed him overhead against the pile of rocks.

For it was a horse in agony which sent that moving appeal from the
thicket near by, and as soon as "Forty-niner" was sure that the man
was recovering, though he could not as yet speak, he sought the poor
beast and saw, to his distress, that for it there was no respite save
in death.

"Well, well, well! This is a bad job all round, but better a horse
than a man, and lucky for both I came when I did. If I had a gun I'd
end the misery of one, straight off. And maybe Marty has. I'll look
and see."

Returning to the road he was greeted by a prolonged stare from the
dazed ranchman, who had, indeed, been able to drag his body to a
sitting posture, but vainly sought to understand what had happened.

Ephraim spoke to him, asking in a matter-of-fact tone:

"Got a revolver with you, lad?"

"Eh? W-h-a-t?" returned Marty, wonder drawing upon him at finding who
his companion was. "You--Eph?"

"Course. Who else! Been quite a spell since we two met, but better
late than never. Got a pistol, I say?"

"What for?"

The sharpshooter hesitated, then gave an evasive answer:

"Powerful long since I done any practicin', and feel like I better try
my hand."

At that instant there was another heavy floundering behind the bushes
and another brutish moan of pain. With this full consciousness came
to the injured ranchman and he tried to rise, crying in his own
distress:

"That's Comanche!"

"Forty-niner" gravely nodded.

"He's hurt?" demanded Marty, as if he defied the answer to be
affirmative.

Ephraim turned away his face. To them, horses were almost as human
beings, and the love of a master for his beast was something
fraternal.

"Help me to him," said the ranchman, staggering to his feet.

"Better not, lad. Best trust to me," protested the elder man.

"Trust--what?"

The look in Ephraim's eyes was all the answer needed to this fierce
question, and Marty turned away his own gaze as he faltered the next
one:

"Yes, mate, but take it like a man. Better him than you, and--give me
the gun."

Marty straightened and stiffened himself.

"Help me to him. Something's wrong with my legs. I'll see for myself.
If it must be, I'll do it for myself."

The frontiersman understood the sentiment and respected it. He had had
to do a like hard duty f