g that the
battle was done, watching Hall as he rode blindly on.

A little way, and the horse, whether through some wild caprice of its
own, or some touch of its dying rider, circled back, galloping down
the long slope toward the man who had come to help Hall adjust his
differences with these contemptible sheepmen. Hall's hat fell off as
his head sank forward; he bent, grappling his horse's mane. So for a
little way he rode, then slipped from the saddle, one foot entangled
in the stirrup.

The horse stopped suddenly, as if a weighted rein had been dropped.
Mackenzie ran down the hill to disengage Hall's foot. But his merciful
haste was useless; Hall was beyond the torture of dragging at a
stirrup.

Mackenzie released the foot with a sad gentleness, composed the dusty
body, drew the reins over the horse's head and left it standing beside
its dead master. Hall's companion in the raid was still struggling
under his fallen horse, and from the vigor of his attempts to free
himself Mackenzie gathered that he was not much hurt.

A moment's work set the scoundrel on his feet, where he limped on a
whole bone, whole enough to ride on many a rascally foray again.
Mackenzie said nothing to him, only indicated by a movement of the
hand what he was to do. Limping painfully, the fellow went to Hall's
horse, lifted his friend's body across the empty saddle, mounted
behind it with a struggle, and rode in humiliation from the field,
glad enough to be allowed to go.

Reid was standing beside his dead horse, watching the fellow ride
away. So for a little he stood, as if he debated some movement against
the man who had sought his life with such hot cruelty but a few
minutes past, not turning to see whether Mackenzie came or went.
Presently he took his coat from the saddle, slung it over his
shoulder, looked after the retreating man again, as if debating
whether to follow.

Mackenzie came up, Reid's pistol in his hand. This he offered, apology
in his manner, but no words on his lips. Reid took it, silent and
unmoved, shoved it into his scabbard, walked away.

From the manner of his going, Mackenzie knew he was not hurt. It was a
comfortable thought for Mackenzie that his interference had at least
saved Reid a wound. Doubtless he had saved him more. In that last
charge, Hector Hall would have had his life.

A part of his tremendous obligation to Reid was paid, and Reid
understood it so. But the knowledge of it seemed to gall him, s