, and lay
back across the body of his brother.

* * * * *

A pathway of lamplight floated out and across the main street of
Criswell. A solitary figure lounged at the saloon bar. The sharp barking
of a dog broke the desert silence. The lounger gazed at the path of
lamplight which framed the bare hitching-rail. His companions of the
afternoon had departed to their homes. Again the dog barked shrilly. The
saloon-keeper moved to a chair and picked up a rumpled paper.

The lounger, leaning on his elbow, suddenly straightened. He pointed
toward the doorway. The saloon-keeper saw the motion from the corner of
his eye. He lowered his paper and rose. In the soft radiance a riderless
horse stood at the hitching-rail, his big eyes glowing, his ears pricked
forward. Across the horse's shoulder was a ragged tear, black against
the tawny gold of his coat. The men glanced at each other. It was the
horse of the fourth man; the man who had staggered in that afternoon,
asked for whiskey, and who had left as buoyantly as though he went to
meet a friend.

"They got him," said the saloon-keeper.

"They got him," echoed the other.

Together they moved to the doorway and peered out. The man who had first
seen the horse stepped down and tied the reins to the rail. He ran his
hand down the horse's shoulder over muscles that quivered as he
examined the wound. He glanced at the saddle, the coiled rope, the
slackened cinches, and pointed to a black stain on the stirrup leather.

[Illustration: I came over--to tell you--that it was Pat's gun]

"From the south," he said. "Maguey rope, and that saddle was made in
Mexico."

"Mebby he wants water," suggested the saloon-keeper.

"He's had it. Reins are wet where he drug 'em in the tank."

"Wonder who them three fellas was?"

"Don' know. From up north, by their rig. I'm wonderin' who the fourth
fella was--and where he is."

"Why, he's out there, stiff'nin' on the sand. They's been a fight. And,
believe me, if the others was like him--she was a dandy!"

"I guess it's up to us to do somethin'," suggested the lounger.

"Not to-night, Bill. You don't ketch me ridin' into a flash in the dark
before I got time to tell myself I'm a dam' fool. In the mornin',
mebby--"

Their heads came up as they heard a horse pounding down the road. A lean
pony, black with sweat, jumped to a trembling stop.

A young Mexican swung down and walked stiffly up to Dex.

"Where i