"Has your horse had water?"

"No, senor. I did not stop."

"Take him back to the water-hole. Or, here! Crawl in there and rest up.
You are all in. I'll take care of the cayuse."

When Waring returned to the chaparral, Ramon was asleep, flat on his
back, his arms outspread and his mouth open. Waring touched him with his
boot. Ramon muttered. Waring stooped and pulled him up.

Within the hour five rurales disembarked from a box-car and crossed to
the water-hole, where one of them dismounted and searched for tracks.
Alert for the appearance of the gringo, they rode slowly toward the
chaparral. The enclosure was empty. After riding a wide circle round the
brush, they turned and followed the tracks toward the eastern hills,
rein-chains jingling and their silver-trimmed buckskin jackets
shimmering in the sun.

* * * * *

"I will ride back," said Ramon. "My horse is too weak to follow. The
senor rides slowly that I may keep up with him."

Waring turned in the saddle. Ahead lay the shadowy foothills of the
mother range, vague masses in the starlight. Some thirty miles behind
was the railroad and the trail north. There was no chance of picking up
a fresh horse. The country was uninhabited. Alone, the gunman would have
ridden swiftly to the hill country, where his trail would have been lost
in the rocky ground of the ranges and where he would have had the
advantage of an unobstructed outlook from the high trails.

Ramon had said the rurales had entrained; were ahead of him to intercept
him. But Waring, wise in his craft, knew that the man-hunters would
search for tracks at every water-hole on the long northern trail. And if
they found his tracks they would follow him to the hills. They were as
keen on the trail as Yaquis and as relentless as wolves. Their horses,
raw-hide tough, could stand a forced ride that would kill an ordinary
horse. And Ramon's wiry little cayuse, though willing to go on until he
dropped, could not last much longer.

But to leave Ramon to the rurales was not in Waring's mind. "We'll keep
on, amigo," he said, "and in a few hours we'll know whether it's to be a
ride or a fight."

"I shall pray," whispered Ramon.

"For a fresh horse, then."

"No, senor. That would be of no use. I shall pray that you may escape.
As for me--"

"We'll hit the glory trail together, muchacho. If you get bumped off,
it's your own funeral. You should have stayed in Sonora."

Ramon sig