ur men came out from the rest, and when they shuffled away with
their burden, the one who seemed to be leader pointed to Grant as he
turned to Breckenridge.

"He would have it, and the thump on the head he got would have put an end
to most men," he said. "Still, I don't figure you need worry about burying
him just yet, and I want a straight answer. Are those dollars in the
house?"

Breckenridge sat blinking at him a moment, and then very shakily dragged
himself to his feet, and stood before the man, with one hand clenched. His
face was white and drawn and there was a red smear on his forehead.

"If you would not believe the man who lies there, will you take my word?"
he said unevenly. "He told you they were not."

"I guess he spoke the truth," said somebody. "Any way, we can't find them.
Well, what is to be done with him?"

Breckenridge, who was not quite himself, laughed bitterly. "Leave him
where he is, and go away. You have done enough," he said. "He gave you all
he had--and I know, as no other man ever will, what it cost him--and this
is how you have repaid him."

Some of the men looked confused, and the leader made a deprecatory
gesture. "Any way, we'll give you a hand to put him where you want."

Breckenridge waved him back fiercely. "I am alone; but none of you shall
lay a hand on him while I can keep you off. If you have left any life in
him, the touch of your fingers would hurt him more than anything."

The other man seemed to have a difficulty in finding an answer, and while
he stared at Breckenridge there was a trample of hoofs in the mire
outside, and a shout. Breckenridge could not catch its meaning, but the
men about him streamed out of the hall and he could hear them mounting in
haste. As the rapid beat of hoofs gradually died away, looking up at a
sound, he saw the cook bending over his comrade. The man, seeing in his
eyes the question he dared not ask, shook his head.

"No, I guess they haven't killed him," he said. "Kind of knocked all the
senses out of him; and now I've let the rest out, we'll get him to bed."

"The rest?" Breckenridge asked bewildered.

The man nodded. "Yes," he said, "I guess I got one or two of the
homestead-boys, and then Charley and I lit out through a back window, and
slipped round to see why the stockboys weren't coming. It was quite
simple. The blame firebugs had put a man with a rifle at the door of their
sleeping shed."

Three or four other men trooped in somewh