im that there was no
living thing in the arroyo--unless--Suddenly he sprang forward and
dropped to his knees beside a huddled shape near a boulder.

"Pat!" he whispered.

Then he knew; saw it all as clearly as though he had witnessed it--the
ambushment in the blinding sandstorm; the terror-stricken Waco; the
frightened ponies; the lunging and swaying buckboard. And Pat, left for
dead, but who had dragged himself from the roadway in dumb agony.

The dole of light from the sinking sun was gone. Waring's hands came
away from the opened shirt shudderingly. He wiped his hands on the sand,
and, rising, ran back to Dex. He returned with a whiskey flask. Pat was
of tough fiber and tremendous vitality. If the spark were still
unquenched, if it could be called back even for a breath, that which
Waring knew, yet wanted to confirm beyond all doubt, might be given in a
word. He raised Pat's head, and barely tilted the flask. The spirit of
the mortally stricken man, perchance loath to leave such a brave
hermitage, winged slowly back from the far shore of dreams. In the black
pit of the arroyo, where death crouched, waiting, life flamed for an
instant.

Waring felt the limp body stir. He took Pat's big, bony hand in his.

"Pat!" he whispered.

A word breathed heavily from the motionless lips. "You, Jim?"

"Yes! For God's sake, Pat, who did this thing?"

"Brewster--Bob. Letter--in my coat."

"I'll get _him_!" said Waring.

"Shake!" exclaimed the dying man, and the grip of his hand was like
iron. Waring thought he had gone, and leaned closer. "I'm--kind of
tired--Jim. Reckon--I'll--rest."

Waring felt the other's grip relax. He drew his hand from the stiffening
fingers. A dull pain burned in his throat. He lighted a match, and found
the message that had lured Pat to his death in the other's coat-pocket.
He rose and stumbled up the arroyo to his horse.

Halfway back to the ranch, and he met Ramon riding hard. "Ride back,"
said Waring. "Hook up to the wagon and come to the arroyo."

"Have you found the Senor Pat?"

"Yes. He is dead."

Ramon whirled his pony and pounded away in the darkness.

Out on the highway two long, slender shafts of light slid across the
mesa, dipped into an arroyo, and climbed skyward as a machine buzzed up
the opposite pitch. The lights straightened again and shot on down the
road, swinging stiffly from side to side. Presently they came to a stop.
In the soft glow of their double radiance lay a