his hands
and knees. He grew hot and wet and winded. His heart thumped so that
it hurt, and there were instants when his sight was blurred. When at
last he had toiled to where the Yaqui sat awaiting him upon the rim of
that great wall, it was none too soon.

Gale lay back and rested for a while without note of anything except
the blue sky. Then he sat up. He was amazed to find that after that
wonderful climb he was only a thousand feet or so above the valley.
Judged by the nature of his effort, he would have said he had climbed a
mile. The village lay beneath him, with its new adobe structures and
tents and buildings in bright contrast with the older habitations. He
saw the green alfalfa fields, and Belding's white horses, looking very
small and motionless. He pleased himself by imagining he could pick
out Blanco Sol. Then his gaze swept on to the river.

Indeed, he realized now why some one had named it Forlorn River. Even
at this season when it was full of water it had a forlorn aspect. It
was doomed to fail out there on the desert--doomed never to mingle with
the waters of the Gulf. It wound away down the valley, growing wider
and shallower, encroaching more and more on the gray flats, until it
disappeared on its sad journey toward Sonoyta. That vast shimmering,
sun-governed waste recognized its life only at this flood season, and
was already with parched tongue and insatiate fire licking and burning
up its futile waters.

Yaqui put a hand on Gale's knee. It was a bronzed, scarred, powerful
hand, always eloquent of meaning. The Indian was listening. His bent
head, his strange dilating eyes, his rigid form, and that
close-pressing hand, how these brought back to Gale the terrible lonely
night hours on the lava!

"What do you hear, Yaqui?" asked Gale. He laughed a little at the mood
that had come over him. But the sound of his voice did not break the
spell. He did not want to speak again. He yielded to Yaqui's subtle
nameless influence. He listened himself, heard nothing but the scream
of an eagle. Often he wondered if the Indian could hear things that
made no sound. Yaqui was beyond understanding.

Whatever the Indian had listened to or for, presently he satisfied
himself, and, with a grunt that might mean anything, he rose and turned
away from the rim. Gale followed, rested now and eager to go on. He
saw that the great cliff they had climbed was only a stairway up to the
huge looming dar