n Lost Valley. Not even Buck Courtrey
himself. I'd back Jim Last against him, even, in fair-draw. Why?"

"Oh, nothin'," said the girl, "only--listen--Glory!" she added slipping
down from the window to stand quietly in the gloom, "that's him now! I
was wishin' hard he'd come. Say--listen----Why,--there's somethin'
gone wrong with El Rey's feet! 1--2----3, 4, 5, 6----1--2--Boys--he's
breakin'! Th' king ain't singlefootin' right, for th' first time
since Jim Last put a halter on him! Come--come quick!"

Ordinarily Tharon was a bit slow in her movements, as the very
graceful often are. Now she was across the room to the western door
before a man had moved. They joined her there and she stood at
attention, one hand at her breast, the breath held still in her
throat. The light, shining through from the eating room beyond, made a
halo of her tawny hair. Silently the riders grouped about her and
listened.

Sure enough. Down along the range that rang as some open stretches do,
there came the clip-clap of a hurrying horse, only now the hoof beats
were regular for a little space, to break, halt, start on, and again
ring true in the beautiful syncopation of the born singlefooter. The
king was coming home, but, alas! not as he had ever come before, in
full flight, proud and powerful. He held his speed and sacrificed his
certainty to the man who clung desperately to the saddle horn and
swayed in wide arcs, so that he must shift continually to keep under
him.

Into the dim glow of light at the open door came El Rey at last, great
blue-silver stallion, his big eyes shining like phosphorus, his
nostrils wide with horror of the pungent crimson wash that painted his
right shoulder.

He stopped at the door-stone, his duty done.

"Dad!" screamed Tharon, shrill as a bugle, for Jim Last, white and
dull as a moon in fog, let go his desperate hold on the pommel and
slid, deadweight, into the reaching arms that circled him.

They carried him into the living room. Before they had him safely on
the wide couch where the Indian blankets glowed, Tharon, trembling but
efficient, had lighted the hanging lamp above the table.

Then she pushed the men aside and knelt beside him.

"Dad," she said clearly, "Jim! Jim Last!"

But the gaining of his goal had been too much. For a moment the
flickering light in him died down to ashes. Tharon, her face as white
as his own, waited in a man-like quiet. She held his stiffened hands
and her eyes burned