The Round-Up: A Romance of Arizona; Novelized from Edmund Day's Melodrama

by Marion Mills Miller, Edmund Day, and John Murray

  CHAPTER XIII

  The Atonement

  False dawn in the Lava Beds of Arizona. The faint tinge on the easternhorizon fades, and the stars shine the more brilliantly in the brief,darkest hour before the true daybreak. An icy wind sweeps down canonsand over mesas, stinging the marrow of the wayfarer's bones. In theheavens, the innumerable stars burn steadily in crystal coldness.Shadows lie in Stygian blackness at foot of rock and valley. Soft andclear the lights of night swathe the uplands. An awesome silence hangsover the desert. Hushed and humbled by the immensity of space, oneexpects to hear the rush of worlds through the universe. At times thebosom swells with a wild desire to sing and shout in the glory of pureliving.

  The day comes quickly; the sun, leaping edge of the world, floods mesaand canon, withering, sparing no living thing, lavishing reds andpurples, blues and violets upon canon walls and wind-sculptured rocks.But a remorseful glare, blinding, sight-destroying, is thrown back fromthe sand and alkali of the desert. Shriveled sage-brush and shrunkencactus bravely fight for life.

  A narrow pathway leads from the mesa down the canon's wall, twistingand doubling on itself to Apache Spring. The trail then movessouthward between towering cliffs, a lane through which is caught afar-distant glimpse of the mountains. Little whirlwinds of dust springup, ever and anon, twirling wildly across the sandy wastes. The airsuffocates, like the breath of a furnace. Ever the pitiless sunsearches and scorches, as conscience sears and stings a stricken soul.

  Down the narrow trail, past the spring, ride in single file theApaches, slowly, on tired horses, for the pursuing soldiers have giventhem no halting space. Naked, save for a breech-clout, with a narrowred band of dyed buckskin about his forehead, in which sticks afeather, each rides silent, grim, cruel, a hideous human reptile, asnative to the desert as is the Gila monster. The horse is saddleless.For a bridle, the warrior uses a piece of grass rope twisted about thepony's lower jaw. His legs droop laxly by the horse's sides. In hisright hand he grasps his rifle, resting the butt on the knee. The onlysound to break the stillness of the day is the rattle of stones,slipping and sliding down the pathway when loosened by hoofs of theponies.

  Creeping down the canon wall, they cross the bottom, pass the spring,and disappear at a turn in the canon walls. Nature and Indian meet andmerge in a world of torture and despair.

  Dick had fared badly in the Lava Beds. One spring after the other hefound dry. His horse fell from exhaustion and thirst; he ended thesufferings of his pack-mule with a revolver-bullet.

  Dick staggered on afoot across the desert, hoping to find water atApache Spring. His blue shirt was torn and faded to a dingy purple.Hat and shoulders were gray with alkali dust. Contact with the rocksand cactus had rent trousers and leggings. His shoes, cut by sharplypointed stones, and with thread rotted by the dust of the deserts, wereworn to shreds. Unshaven and unshorn, with sunken cheeks and eyesbright with the delirium of thirst, he dragged his weary way across thedesert. He reached Apache Spring shortly after the passage of theIndians, but craving for water was so great that he did not observetheir trail.

  Reeling toward the spring, he cast aside his hat and flung down hisrifle in his eagerness to drink. Throwing himself on his face beforethe hollow in the rock from which the water trickled, he first saw thatthe waters had dried up. With his bony fingers he dug into the drysand, crying aloud in despair. Stiffly he arose and blundered blindlyto a rock, upon which he sank in his weakness.

  "Another day like this and I'll give up the fight," he moaned. "ApacheSpring dry--the first time in years; Little Squaw Spring, nothing butdust and alkali; it is twenty miles to Clearwater Spring--twentymiles--if I can make it."

  Dick trembled with weakness. His swollen tongue clove to the roof ofhis mouth. His lips were cracked and blackened. Bits of foamflickered about the corners of his mouth. The glare blinded his eyes,which were half-closed. At times fever-waves swept over him; again heshuddered with cold.

  Sounds of falling waters filled his ears. The sighing of the windthrough the canon walls suggested the trickling of fountains. Riversflowed before his eyes through green meadows, only to fade into thedesert as he gazed.

  "What a land! what a land! It is the abode of the god of thirst! Hetempts men into his valley with the lure of gold, and saps thelife-blood from their bodies--drop by drop. Drop by drop I hear itfalling. No, it is water I hear! There it is! How cool it looks!"

  Dick rose and staggered toward the cliff. In his delirium of thirst hesaw streams of water gush down the mountainside. Holding out his arms,he cried: "Saved, saved!"

  His hands fell limply by his sides as the illusion faded. He thendoubled them into fists, and shook them at the cliff in a last defianceof despair. "You sha'n't drive me mad!"

  He seized his empty canteen, pressing it to his lips.

  "No, I drained that two days ago--or was it three?" he whispered inpanic, as he threw it aside.

  Picking up his gun, he falteringly attempted the ascent. "I won't giveup--I won't," he shouted huskily. "I've fought the desert before andconquered. I'll conquer again--I'll--"

  His will-power ebbed with his failing strength. Blindness fell uponhim. Oblivion swept over him. He sank, dying of thirst, in the sandsof the desert.

  As the buzzard finds the dead, so an Apache crept upon Dick as he layprostrate. But as the Indian aimed, he heard footsteps from a draw.He saw a man approaching the spring. Silently he fled behind the rocks.

  It was Jack. He had entered the Lava Beds from the east, closelyfollowing the man for whom he had searched for so many weary months.Others of the Apaches had marked him already. Knowing he would go tothe spring, they waited warily to learn if he were alone. The band hadscattered to surround him at the water-hole.

  Jack's horse and burro, which he had left at the head of the canon,were already in the Indians' possession. With him he carried his rifleand a Colt revolver. A canteen of water was slung over his shoulder.The desert had placed its stamp upon him, turning his clothes to gray.The tan of his face was deepened. Lines about the eyes and mouthshowed how much he had suffered physically and mentally in his searchfor the man he believed was his successful rival in love. Reaching thespring, he looked about cautiously before he laid down his Winchester.He tugged at the butt of his revolver to make certain that it could bepulled quickly from the holster. Taking off his hat, he knelt todrink. He smiled, and confidently tapped his canteen when he found thespring dry. He was raising his canteen to his lips when he spiedDick's body.

  Jumping behind a rock, he pulled his revolver, covering the insensibleman. It might be a trap. He scanned the trail, the cliff, the canon.Hearing and seeing nothing, he slipped his revolver into his holsterand hurried to Dick's side. At first he did not recognize him. Thedesert and thirst had wrought many changes in his friend's face.

  When recognition came, he threw his arms about the prostrate form,crying: "Dick, at last, at last!"

  His voice was broken with emotion. The search had been so long, soweary, and the ending so sudden. He had found Dick, but it looked asif he came too late.

  Gathering Dick up in his arms, he raised him until his head rested onhis knees. Forcing open his mouth, he poured a little water down histhroat.

  Then with a moistened handkerchief he wetted temples and wrists. SlowlyDick struggled back to life.

  "Water--water--it's water!" he gasped, struggling for more of theprecious fluid.

  "Easy," cautioned Jack. "Only a little now--more when you're stronger."

  "Who is it?" cried Dick. Not waiting for Jack to enlighten him, hecontinued: "No matter--you came in time. I couldn't have held out anylonger. All the springs are dry--I figured on reaching Clearwater."

  Jack helped Dick to his feet. Taking his stricken friend's right arm,he drew it across his shoulders. With his left arm about his waist,Jack led him to a seat upon a convenient rock.

  "I came by Clearwater yesterday," explained Jack. "It is nothing butmu
d and alkali."

  "My horse dropped three days ago. I had to shoot the pack-mule. I--"Dick opened his eyes under the ministrations of Jack. Gazing upwardinto his face, he shouted joyfully:

  "Why--it's Jack--Jack Payson."

  "Didn't you know me, Dick?" asked Jack sympathetically.

  "Not at first--my eyes went to the bad out yonder in the glare."

  The effort had been too much for Dick. He sat weakly over Jack'sknees. Jack turned him partly on his back, and let more water trickledown his throat.

  Dick clutched madly at the canteen, but Jack drew it back out of hisreach. With his handkerchief he moistened lips and neck. When Dick'sstrength returned, Jack helped him to sit up.

  "I've been hunting you for months," he told him.

  "Hunting for me?" echoed Dick.

  "Yes," answered Jack. "I traced you through the Lost Cities, then toCooney, then up in the Tularosas. At Fort Grant they put me on theright trail."

  As the clouds break, revealing the blue of the heavens, so Dick'smemory came back to him. He shrank from the man at his side.

  "Well?" he asked, as he stared at his betrayer.

  Jack gazed fixedly ahead. He dared not look in the face of him he hadwronged so bitterly.

  "She wants you," he said, in a voice void of all emotion.

  "Who wants me?" asked Dick, after a pause.

  "Echo."

  "Your wife?" gritted Dick. He fingered his gun as he spoke.

  Huskily Jack replied: "Yes."

  Bitter thoughts filled the mind of one; the other had schooled himselfto make atonement. For the wrong he had done, Jack was ready to offerhis life. He had endured the full measure of his sufferings. The hourof his delivery was at hand. Hard as it was to die in the midglory ofmanhood, it was easier to end it all here and now, than to live unlovedby Echo, hated by Dick, despised by himself.

  "She sent me to find you. 'Bring him back to me.' That's what shesaid," Jack cried, in his agony.

  "Your wife--she said that?" faltered Dick.

  Fiercely in his torture Jack answered: "Yes--my wife--my wife said it.'Bring him back to me.'"

  "Back?" Dick paused. "Back to what?" he asked himself. "She's yourwife, isn't she?" he demanded.

  "That's what the law says," answered Jack.

  With the thought of the evening in the garden when he heard Jack andEcho pronounced man and wife surging over him, Dick murmured: "What Godhath joined together, let no man put asunder."

  "That's what the Book says," answered Jack. "But when hands alone arejoined and hearts are asunder, it can't go on record as the work ofGod."

  Dick bowed his head in his hands. "I don't understand."

  Stubbornly Jack pursued his message to Dick. "She doesn't love me. Ithought I had won her, but she married me with your image in her heart.She married me, yet all the while you were the man sheloved--you--you--and in the end I found it out."

  Jack's voice sank almost into a whisper as he finished his revelationto Dick, who raised his head and cried: "And yet she broke her faithwith me--"

  Jack arose in his misery. His task was harder than he expected. Dickwas forcing him to tell all without concealing even the smallest trifleof his shame.

  "She thought--you were dead. I never told her otherwise. I lied toher--I lied to her."

  "She never knew?" asked Dick joyfully. "The letter--?"

  "I never gave it to her," answered Jack simply.

  Dick leaped to his feet, pulling his revolver from his holster. "And Ithought her false to her trust!" He aimed his gun at Payson's heart."I ought to kill you for this!"

  Jack spread out his arms and calmly replied: "I'm ready."

  Dick dropped his gun and slipped it into the holster with a gesture ofdespair. "But it's too late now, too late!"

  In his eagerness to tell Dick the way he had solved the problem, Jackspoke nervously and quickly. "No, it isn't too late. There's one wayout of this--one way in which I can atone for the wrong I've done youboth, and I stand ready to make that atonement. It is your right tokill me, but it is better that you go back to her without my blood onyour hands--"

  "Go--back--to her?" questioned Dick, as the meaning of the phraseslowly dawned upon him.

  "Yes," said Jack, holding out his hands. "Go back with clean hands toEcho Allen. It is you she loves. There's my horse up yonder. Beyond,there're the pack-mule loaded with water and grub. Plenty of water.We'll just change places, that's all. You take them and go back to herand I'll stay here."

  Dick walked toward the spring, but, a spell of weakness came over himand he almost sank to the ground. Jack caught him and held him up.

  "It would be justice," muttered Dick, as if apologizing for hisacceptance of Jack's renunciation.

  Leaning over his shoulder, Jack said: "Sure, that's it, justice. Justtell her I tried to work it out according to my lights--ask herto--forgive, to forgive, that's all."

  Jack took off his canteen and threw the strap around Dick's neck. AsLane weakly staggered toward the mouth of the canon, where the horsehad been staked out, Jack halted him with a request:

  "There's another thing; I left home under a cloud. Buck McKee chargedme with holding up and killing 'Ole Man' Terrill for three thousanddollars. Tell Slim Hoover how you paid me just that sum of money."

  "I will, and I'll fix the murder where it belongs, and then fix thereal murderer."

  Jack stepped to Lane's side and, holding out his hand, said: "Thankyou. I don't allow you can forgive me?"

  "I don't know that I could," coldly answered Dick.

  "You'd better be going."

  Again Dick started for the horse, but a new thought came to him.Pausing, he said. "She can't marry again until--"

  "Well?" asked Jack; his voice was full of sinister meaning, and hefingered his gun as he spoke.

  Dick realized at once that Jack's plan was to end his life in thedesert with a revolver-shot.

  "You mean to--" he shuddered.

  Jack drew his gun. "Do you want me to do it here and now?" he cried.

  Staggering over to him the weakened man grappled with his old friend,trying to disarm him. "No, no, you sha'n't!" he shouted, as Jack shookhim free.

  "Why not?" demanded Jack. "Go. There's my horse--he's yours--go! Whenyou get to the head of the canon, you'll hear and know--know that sheis free and I have made atonement."

  "Why should I hesitate?" argued Dick with himself. "I wanted to die. Icame here in the desert to make an end of it all, but when I met deathface to face, the old spirit of battle came over me, and fought itback, step by step. Now--now you come and offer me more than life--youoffer to restore to me all that made life dear, all that you havestolen from me by treachery and fraud. Why should I hesitate? She ismine, mine in heart, mine by all the ties of love--mine by all itsvows--I will go back, I will take your place and leave you here--herein this land of dead things, to make your peace with God!"

  Beads of sweat broke out on Jack's forehead as he listened. He bit hislips until they bled. Clenching his fingers until the nails sank intothe palms of his hands, he cried warningly in his agony: "I wouldn'tsay no more, if I was you. Go--for God's sake, go!"

  Dick slowly moved toward the mouth of the canon, still hesitating.

  From the hillside a rifle-shot rang out. The ball struck Dick in theleg. He fell, and lay motionless.

  Pulling his revolver, Jack stooped and ran under the overhanging ledge,peering about to see where the shot had come from. He raised his gunto fire, when a volley of rifle-shots rang through the canon, thebullets kicking up little spurts of dust about him and chipping edgesoff the rocks. Jack dropped on his knees and crept to his rifle,clipping his revolver back into his holster.

  Crouching behind a rock with his rifle to his shoulder, he waited forthe attackers to show themselves.

  Experience on the plains taught them that the fight would be a slowone, unless the Apaches sought only to divert attention for the timebeing to cover the
ir flight southward. After the one shot, whichstruck Dick, and the volley directed at Jack, not a rifle had beenfired. Peering over the boulder, Jack could see nothing.

  The Lava Beds danced before his eyes in the swelter of the glaringsunshine. Far off the snow-capped mountains mockingly reared theirpeaks into the intense blue of the heavens. Since the attackers werecovered with alkali-dust from the long ride, a color which would mergeinto the desert floor when a man lay prone, detection of any movementwas doubly difficult. Behind any rock and in any clump of sage-brushmight lie an assailant.

  Dick had fallen near the spring. He struggled back to consciousness,to find his left leg numb and useless. When the ball struck him hefelt only a sharp pinch. His fainting was caused by a shock to hisweakened body, but not from fear or pain. With the return to hissenses came a horrible, burning thirst, and a horrible sinkingsensation in the pit of his stomach. He lay breathing heavily until hegot a grip on himself. Then he tore the bandanna handkerchief from hisneck and bound up the wound, winding the bandage as tightly as hisstrength permitted to check the blood-flow.

  "What is it?" asked Jack, over his shoulder.

  "Indians--the 'Paches are out. I'm hit," gasped Dick. He crawledpainfully and slowly to Jack's side, dragging his leg after him. Hepulled with him his rifle, which he picked up as he passed from thespot where it had fallen in his first wild rush for water.

  "The soldiers told me at Fort Grant about the 'Paches being out," Jackwhispered hoarsely. "I thought they'd crossed the border into Mexico."

  Seeing a spasm of pain sweep over Dick's face, he asked: "Are you hurtbad?"

  "I don't know. My left leg is numb."

  Both men spoke scarcely above a whisper, fearing to betray theirpositions by the sound of their voices. Dick lay on his back gatheringstrength to ward off with rifle and revolver the rush which would comesooner or later.

  Jack caught the sound of a falling stone. Peering cautiously over therock, he saw an Indian creep up a draw toward them. Throwing his rifleto his shoulder, he took quick aim and fired. The Apache jumped to hisfeet, ran a few steps forward, and fell sprawling. A convulsiveshudder shook him, and he lay still.

  "I got him!" cried Jack exultantly, as he saw the result of the shot.

  But the exposure of his head and shoulders above their barricade haddrawn forth more shots from other members of the band.

  The bullets struck near the two men, showing that the Apaches had therange.

  Dick's wound was bleeding freely, but the shock of the blow had passedaway, and his strength returned. Drawing his revolver, he crept closerto Jack, crying: "I can shoot some."

  "I reckon you haven't more than a flesh-wound," encouraged Jack. "Canyou crawl to the horse?"

  "I think I can," answered Dick.

  "Then go. Take the trail home. I'll keep these fellows busy while youget away."

  The Apaches were showing themselves more as they darted from rock torock, drawing closer to the entrapped men down the boulder-strewn drawsor ravines leading into the canon. An Apache had crawled to the headof a draw, and crossed the butte into a second ravine, which led to thetrail down the cliffside. On his belly he had wormed his way up thepathway until he overlooked the rear of the defensive position the twomen occupied. Screened by a hedge he awaited a favorable shot.

  Jack again cautiously raised his head and peered over the barricade.Still not an enemy was in sight. As the Apaches had ceased to fire, heknew they were gathering for another simultaneous rush. The purpose ofthese dashes was twofold: While one or two men might be killed in theadvance, the whole party was nearer the object of attack at the finish,and the defenders were demoralized by the hopelessness of allresistance. For the silent rising of naked, paint-daubed Indians fromout of the ground, the quick closing in of the cordon, similar to theturn of a lariat around a snubbing-post when a pony weakens for amoment, is calculated to shake the nerves of the strongest ofIndian-fighters.

  In the breathing-space which the Apaches had given them Jack, who hadresigned himself to die, took a new grip on life. His dream ofatonement had worked out better than he had planned. Selling his lifebravely fighting in a good cause was far, far better than ending it byhis own hand. It was a man's death. Fate had befriended him in theend.

  Reaching his hand out to Dick, he touched his shoulder, rousing himfrom a stupor into which he was sinking.

  "Quick, Dick, they're coming closer. Go," he ordered. "Don't be afool, only one of us can escape. One of us alone. Let it be you,Dick, go back to her, back to home and happiness."

  Dick struggled to a sitting posture, offering a fair target for theIndian hidden behind the ledge on the cliff trail. The Apache tookfull advantage and fired, but missed. Dick returned the shot with hisrevolver before the warrior could sink back behind the rock. TheApache lurched forward in his death-blindness, with the last convulsiveobedience of the muscles ere the will flees. Then his legs crumpled upbeneath him and he toppled forward off the ledge. His breech-cloutcaught in a rocky projection, causing the body to hang headlong againstthe side of the cliff. His rifle fell from his nerveless hands,clattering and breaking on the rocks below.

  The sight served as a tonic to Dick. His success braced his strengthand will. The old battle-spirit surged over him. Only with an effortdid he suppress the desire to laugh and shout. He would have left Jackto fight it out alone but a minute before, but the one shot drove allsuch ideas from his mind.

  "No. I'll be damned if I'll go!" he shouted. "I'll stay and fightwith you," and, seizing his rifle joined Jack in stopping a rush of theApaches.

  "We stopped them that time," Jack cried, with satisfaction. In thelull he again urged his comrade to escape to the horse and return toEcho. "Take the horse," he insisted. "Go while there's a chance."

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

  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'shappiness 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 nowaving flags, no cheering comrades. He was only one of two men in thedesert, dirty, grimy, and sweaty; his mouth dry and parched, his eyesstinging from powder-fumes, his hands numb from the effects of rapidfiring. His mind worked automatically; he seemed to be only anonlooker. The man who first fought off the Apaches and who was now tooffer himself as a sacrifice was only one of two Jack Paysons, areplica 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 downbehind the barricade. For a moment both men were in full view of theApaches. A volley crashed up and across the canon. Both men felllocked in each other's arms, then lay still.

  The Indians awaited the result of the shots. The strange actions ofthe 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 tothe 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 hiscomrade 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 foryourself--you understand?"

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

  Jack reached the boulder, and with an effort raised himsel
f and peeredover the edge.

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

  "I sure will," his wounded comrade cried, grasping it with all thestrength he possessed.

  Jack smiled in his happiness. He felt he had made his peace with allmen and at last was ready to meet death with a clear conscience.

  "It looks like the end. But we'll fight for it."

  The shrill war-whoops of the Indians, the first sound they had made inthe fight, showed they felt confident of overcoming the men in the nextrush.

  Jack and Dick had abandoned the rifles and were now fighting theIndians off with their revolvers as they closed in on them.

  Hardie had halted the night before at Clearwater Spring. Finding itbut mud and alkali, he had merely rested his men and horses for a fewhours, and then pushed on for Apache Spring, where he hoped to strikewater. The troop rode through the early morning hours, full of grit,and keen to overtake the Apaches, traces of whose flight were becomingmore evident every mile. All weariness had vanished. Even the horsesfelt there was something in the air and answered the bugle-call withfresh vigor and go.

  A scout first heard the firing at the spring. He did not wait toinvestigate, knowing he could do nothing alone. The volleys, thedifference in the reports of the rifles, proved to him that one partywas firing Springfields and the other Winchesters. He knew that theApaches were being held off. Galloping back to the troop, he reportedthe fight to its commander.

  The bugles sounded. The horses were forced into a gallop. Withclashing accouterments and jingling spurs and bits, they dashed acrossthe mesa to the head of the trail. Here they met Slim Hoover and hisposse coming from an opposite direction.

  The firing in the canon was more intermittent now. Dick and Jack weresaving their revolver-shots. The Indians were closing in for the lastrush.

  Hardie dismounted his men and threw his troops as groups of skirmishersdown the draws leading into one side of the canon. Slim and his possewere on the left flank, armed with revolvers. Hardie, with a section,dashed down the trail.

  They came upon the Apaches with the rush of a mountain torrent,striking them in the front and on the flank. The cavalrymen fired atwill, each plunging from one cover to another as he picked out his man.

  The Indians, for a few moments, replied shot for shot. Their stand wasa short one, however, and they began to fall back.

  Slim entered the canon at the head of the scouts, driving the Apachesbefore him. Both Jack and Dick had fallen. Across the bodies a waveof the battle flowed.

  Once the Indians rallied, but so sudden was the attack, so irresistiblethe forward dash of the cavalrymen, that they became discouraged, andbroke and fled toward their horses, with the soldiers in pursuit.

  Slim hurried to Dick's side, seeing he was the worst hurt. As he kneltbeside him, the dying man opened his eyes and smiled. Leaning over him,Slim heard him gently whisper: "Tell her I know she was true, and notto mind."

  With a deep sigh, his eyelids fluttered, and all was still.

  The scouts had taken charge of Jack, who was unconscious, and bleedingfreely.

  From the spring the fighting had drifted southward. Few of the Indiansreached the horses, and fewer still got away. Scattering shots showedthe hunt for those who fled on foot was still on.

  Then soft and mellow over canon and mesa and butte floated thebugle-call, recalling the cavalrymen to the guidon. Back they came,cheering and tumultuous, only to be silenced by the presence of theirdead.

  They buried Dick's body near the spring, and carved his name with acavalry saber on a boulder near-by.

  At dawn the next day they began the long march back to Fort Grant.

  Slim took charge of Jack, nursing him back to life.