inions. Towards Barger he felt no anger, but rather a pity
instead.

After a time the convict moved sufficiently to prop himself up against
the bank. He looked at Van dully. This was the man who had "sent him
up"--and saved him from the sand. There was much that lay between
them, much that must always lie. He had no issues to dodge. There was
nothing cowardly in Barger, despite his ways.

"I nearly got you, up yonder," he said, and he jerked his thumb towards
the mountains, to indicate the pass where he and Van had met an hour
before.

Van nodded. "You sure did. Who told you to look for me here?"

Barger closed his eyes. "Nothing doing." He could not have been
forced to tell.

Van smiled. "That's all right." There was no resentment in the tone.

Barger looked at him curiously.

"What for did you pull me out?"

"Don't know," Van confessed. "Perhaps I hated to have the quicksand
cheat the pen."

"Must have had some good reason," agreed the prostrate man. He was
silent for a moment, and then he added: "I s'pose I'm your meat."

As before, Van nodded: "I reckon you are."

Barger spat. It was his first vigorous indication of returning
strength.

"Someways," he said, "I'd rather you'd shoot me here, right now, than
send me back to the pen. But I couldn't stand fer that!" He made his
characteristic gesture towards the river. As Van made no comment the
fellow concluded: "I s'pose you need the reward."

Van was aware there was ten thousand dollars as a price on the
convict's head, a fact which he someway resented. To-day, more than at
any time within his life, he felt out of sympathy with law--with man's
law, made against man.

He began to pull off his boots.

"No," he said, "I don't want any State's reward, much less express
company money. Maybe if it wasn't for those rewards I'd take you into
camp." He inverted his boots and shook out a few grains of sand.

Barger glanced at him suspiciously.

"What are you goin' to do with me, then, now you've got me to rights?"

"Nothing," said Van, "nothing this afternoon." He stood up. "You and
I break even, Barger, understand? Don't take me wrong. I'm not
turning you loose entirely. You belong to me. Whenever I call for the
joker, Matt, I want you to come."

He would never call, and he knew it. He merely left the matter thus to
establish a species of ownership that Barger must acknowledge. There
is law of the State, and law of God, and