eing able to reach the brow of
the Llano where it abuts on the Texan prairies; though in the heart of
one of them this hope is nearly dead. Frank Hamersley has but slight
hopes that he will ever again see the homes of civilisation, or set foot
upon its frontier. Even the ci-devant Ranger inclines to a similar way
of thinking.

Not far off are other animated beings that seem to rejoice. The shadows
of the two men are not the only ones that move over the sunlit face of
the artemisia. There, too, are outlined the wings of birds--large birds
with sable plumage and red naked necks, whose species both know well.
They are _zopilotes_--the vultures of Mexico.

A score of such shadows are flitting over the sage--a score of the birds
are wheeling in the air above.

It is a sight to pain the traveller, even when seen at a distance. Over
his own head it may well inspire him with fear. He cannot fail to read
in it a forecast of his own fate.

The birds are following the two men, as they would a wounded buffalo or
stricken deer. They soar and circle above them, at times swooping
portentously near. They do not believe them to be spectres. Wasted as
their flesh may be, there will still be a banquet upon their bones.

Now and then Walt Wilder casts a glance up towards them. He is anxious,
though he takes care to hide his anxiety from his comrade. He curses
the foul creatures, not in speech--only in heart, and silently.

For a time the wearied wayfarers keep on without exchanging a word.
Hitherto consolation has come from the side of the ex-Ranger; but he
seems to have spent his last effort, and is himself now despairing.

In Hamersley's heart hope has been gradually dying out, as his strength
gets further exhausted. At length the latter gives way, the former at
the same time.

"No farther, Walt!" he exclaims, coming to a stop. "I can't go a step
further. There is a fire in my throat that chokes me; something grips
me within. It is dragging me to the ground."

The hunter stops too. He makes no attempt to urge his comrade on. He
perceives it would be idle.

"Go on yourself," Hamersley adds, gasping out the words. "You have yet
strength left, and may reach water. I cannot, but I can die, I'm not
afraid to die. Leave me, Walt; leave me!"

"Niver!" is the response, in a hoarse, husky voice, but firm, as if it
came from a speaking-trumpet.

"You will; you must. Why should two lives be sacrificed for one? Yo