"Take the horse," he insisted. "Go while there's a chance."

"No," shouted Dick determinedly. It was as much his fight as Jack's
now.

Jack thought more for Echo in that moment than he did for himself.
Here was the man she loved. He must go back to her. The woman's
happiness depended upon it. But Jack realized that while he was alive,
Dick would stay. One supreme sacrifice was necessary.

"Go," he cried, "or I'll stand up and let 'em get me."

"No, we can hold them off," begged Dick, firing as he spoke.

Jack's hour had struck. It was all so supremely simple. There were no
waving flags, no cheering comrades. He was only one of two men in the
desert, dirty, grimy, and sweaty; his mouth dry and parched, his eyes
stinging from powder-fumes, his hands numb from the effects of rapid
firing. His mind worked automatically; he seemed to be only an
onlooker. The man who first fought off the Apaches and who was now to
offer himself as a sacrifice was only one of two Jack Paysons, a
replica of his conscious self.

Swiftly Jack Payson arose and faced the Indians.

"Good-bye!" he cried to his comrade.

Dick struggled to his feet and threw himself on Jack to force him down
behind the barricade. For a moment both men were in full view of the
Apaches. A volley crashed up and across the canon. Both men fell
locked in each other's arms, then lay still.

The Indians awaited the result of the shots. The strange actions of
the men might be only a ruse. Silence would mean they were victorious.

Both Jack and Dick had been struck. Jack was the first to recover.
Reviving, he struggled out of the clasp of his unconscious comrade.
"He's hit bad," he said to himself, "and so am I. I'll fight it out to
the last, and if they charge they won't get us alive."

Dick groaned and opened his eyes.

"I'm hit hard," he whispered, "you'd better go."

Jack was on his hands and knees crawling toward his rifle when his
comrade spoke.

"Listen," he replied. "We're both fixed to stay now, so lie close.
I'll hold 'em off as long as I can, but if they rush, save one shot for
yourself--you understand?"

"Yes, not alive!" answered Dick weakly, his voice thin and his face
ashen white with pain.

Jack reached the boulder, and with an effort raised himself and peered
over the edge.

"They're getting ready. Will you take my hand now?" he asked, as he
held it out to Dick.

"I sure will," his wounded comrade cried, grasping it wi