ent approval. The compact roll
that had been slung from the younger man's shoulders, even the broad
shoulders themselves, and the square jaw, unshaved and grimy, got
Rawson's inaudible, "O. K.!" But the face was more burned than tanned.

* * * * *

He introduced himself when the stranger was able to stand. "I'm
Rawson, Dean Rawson, mining engineer when I'm working at it," he
explained. "I'm bound north. I'll take you out of this. You can travel
with me as far as you please."

The dark-haired youngster was plainly youthful now, as he stood erect.
His voice was recovering what must have been its usual hearty ring.

"I'm not trying to say 'thank you,'" he said, as he took Rawson's
hand. "I was sure sunk--going down for the last time--taps--all that
sort of thing! You pulled me out--the good old helping hand. Can't
thank a fellow for that--just return the favor or pass it on to
someone else. And, by the way--you won't believe it--but my name is
Smith."

Rawson smiled good-naturedly. "No," he agreed, "I don't believe it.
But it's a good, handy name. All right, Smithy, jump in! Here, let me
give you a lift; you're still woozy."

Rawson found his passenger uncommunicative. Not but what Smithy talked
freely of everything but himself, but it was of himself that Rawson
wanted to know.

"Drop me at the first town," said Smithy. "You're going north: I'm
south-bound--looking for a job down in Los. I won't take any more
short cuts; I was two days on this last one. I'll stick to the road."

They were through the mountains that ringed in the fiery pit of Tonah
Basin. Smooth sand lay ahead; only the shallow marks that his own
tires had ploughed needed to be followed. Dean Rawson turned and
looked with fair appraisal at the man he had saved.

"Drifter?" he asked himself silently. "Road bum? He doesn't look the
part; there's something about him...."

Aloud he inquired: "What's your line? What do you know?"

And the young man answered frankly: "Not a thing!"

* * * * *

Dean sensed failure, inefficiency. He resented it in this youngster
who had fought so gamely with death. His voice was harsh with a
curious sense of his own disappointment as he asked:

"Found the going too hard for you up north, did you? Well, it won't be
any easier--" But Smithy had interrupted with a weak movement of his
hand.

"Not too hard," he said laconically; "too damn soft! I don't kno