Keeping to the trail, Rathburn mounted higher and higher and spoke continually to his horse in a crooning tone of encouragement. His face was drawn in grim lines, his eyes were constantly alert, his very posture in the saddle showed that his nerves were at high tension.

He ignored dim paths which occasionally led off to the left or right in rifts in the sheer, black walls of the narrow caÑon. No sound came to him from below. He knew the posse would have to proceed with the utmost caution, for the sheriff and his men could not be sure that they would not encounter him at some bend in the trail. They would be expecting shots from every boulder; for Rathburn had let them know he had no intention of being taken easily or alive.

The afternoon wore on, with Rathburn steadily penetrating the very heart of Imagination Range. Finally he swung out of the caÑon trail and took a dim path to the right. He dismounted and walked back to rub off the scars left by his horse’s shoes on the rock floor of the side trail. Satisfied that he would leave the members of the posse confused as to which side trail he had taken, he returned to his horse, mounted, and proceeded up the narrow trail leading to the top of the range to the south of the deep caÑon.

In the western sky the sun was low when he rode down the crest of the range. The mountains were devoid of vegetation, bleak and bare and black. The 186 lava rock seemed to absorb the heat of the sun and throw it in the rider’s face. But Rathburn didn’t appear to mind it.

He crossed the backbone of the range and began the descent on the eastern side. But he descended only a short distance before he swung out of the saddle. From the slicker pack on the rear of his saddle he took a pair of heavy leather gloves. He cut these open in the palms with his pocketknife and then tied them about the shoes on his horse’s hind feet. The dun was only shod behind.

Again he mounted, and this time he turned to the south and rode down a long slope of lava rock. He grunted with satisfaction, as he looked behind and saw that the leather prevented the shoes on his mount’s hind feet from leaving their mark. He was completely obliterating his trail––leaving nothing for the posse to follow, if they should trace him to the top of the range.

He walked his horse slowly, for the dun did not like the idea of the leather tied to its hoofs. In less than two miles the leather was worn through upon the hard rock, and he got down and removed the remnants. He straightened up and looked out over the vista of the desert.

The western sky was a sea of gold. Far to southward a curl of smoke rose upward, marking the course of a railroad and a town. Rathburn looked long in this direction, with a dreamy, wistful light in his eyes. Close at hand vegetation appeared upon the slopes of the hills. His gaze darted here and there along the ridges below him, and his parted lips and eager attitude showed unmistakably that he was familiar with every rod of the locality in which he found himself.

Again he climbed into the saddle and turned off to the left, entering a caÑon. For better than half a 187 mile he proceeded down this way, then he rode eastward again, winding in and out in a network of caÑons until he came to the rock-ribbed crest of a ridge which overlooked an oasis in the desert hills. There was green vegetation where the water from a spring seeped into the floor of the caÑon below him. The spring was nothing more than a huge cup in the rock which had caught the water from the spring rains and filled. Above the spring was a small cabin, and Rathburn saw that the cabin door was open.

Hurriedly he rode down a trail to the right which circled around into the caÑon from its lower end. As he galloped toward the spring, a figure appeared in the doorway of the cabin. Rathburn waved an arm and dismounted at the spring. He led his horse to drink, as the man came walking toward him from the cabin. He compelled the dun to drink slowly; first a swallow, now two, then a few more; finally he drew the horse away from the water.

“You can have some more a little later,” he said cheerfully. “Hello, Joe Price!”

The man walked up to him without a great show of surprise and held out his hand. He was bareheaded, and the hair which hung down to his shoulders was snow-white. The face was seamed and lined, burned by the sun of three score Arizona summers, and the small, blue eyes twinkled.

“Hang me with a busted shoe string if it ain’t Rathburn,” said the old man. “Why, boy, you’re just in time for supper. Put your horse up behind the cabin an’ get in at the table. She’s a big country, all full of cactus; but the old man’s got grub left!”

Rathburn laughed, rinsed his mouth out with water he dipped from the spring in a battered tin cup, and took a swallow before he replied.

“Joe, there’s two things I want––grub an’ gaff. I know you’ve got grub, or you wouldn’t be here; but I don’t know if you’re any good at the gaff any more.”

The old man scrutinized him. “You look some older,” he said finally. “Not much of the wild, galootin’ kid left in you, I ’spect. But don’t go gettin’ fresh with me, or I’ll clout you one with my prospectin’ pick. Go ’long now; put up your horse an’ hustle inside. If you want to wash up, I guess you can––bein’ a visitor.”

Rathburn chuckled, as he led his horse around behind the cabin, where two burros were, and unsaddled him. Before he entered the cabin he stood for a moment looking up the ridge down which he had come. The old man watched him, but made no comment. As Rathburn sat down to the table, however, he spoke.

“I kin hear anybody comin’ down that trail over the ridge, while they’re a mile away,” he said simply without looking up.

Rathburn flashed a look of admiration at the old man.

The glow of the sunset lit the hills with crimson fire, and a light breeze stirred with the advent of the long, colorful desert twilight. They ate in silence, washing down the hardy food with long drafts of strong coffee. The old man asked no questions of his friend. He knew that in time Rathburn would talk. A man’s business in that desolate land of dreadful distances was his own, save such of it as he wanted to tell. It was the desert code.

Supper over, they went out to a little bench in front of the cabin. There Joe Price lit his pipe, and Rathburn rolled a cigarette.

For some time they smoked in silence. The purple 189 twilight drifted over the hills, and the breeze freshened in welcome relief to the heat of the day.

“Joe, I just had to come back,” said Rathburn softly. “Something’s wrong with me. You wouldn’t think I’d get homesick this way, after all the trouble I’ve had here, would you?”

The old man removed his pipe. “Anybody here in particular you want to see?” he asked slowly.

Rathburn shrugged. “You’re always gettin’ right down to cases first hand off an’ running,” he complained. “Of course there’s folks I want to see. I want to see you, for instance.”

“I don’t reckon you’d be ridin’ any terrible great distance an’ takin’ chances by the handful just to see me, boy,” said Price. “But I ain’t tryin’ to pry into your affairs. You don’t have to answer any of the fool questions I ask you––you know that. I’m an old man an’ gettin’ childish.”

Rathburn laughed. “I can believe that when I find you still putterin’ around up here where there ain’t even a sign of mineral,” he chided.

“There’s gold right under your feet,” said the old man stoutly. “I’ll have a payin’ vein opened up here in less’n three months.”

“I hope so, Joe. There’s nobody I’d like more to see make a big strike than you. You were my dad’s friend, an’ you’ve been mine. I haven’t got many friends, Joe.”

“But them you’ve got is good ones,” said Price quickly. “How long you been away?”

“About eight months,” Rathburn replied with a frown.

“It’s hard to get away from the desert,” mused the old man. “It’s in your blood. If you leave here for good you’ve just naturally got to take something along with you from here––something that’s a part of the desert, you might say.”

Rathburn looked keenly at the face of his friend. But the old man was regarding his pipe, as if he had never until that moment seen it.

“I ran into a posse chasin’ a gang that robbed a stage on the way over here this noon,” Rathburn said presently.

Price’s interest quickened, but he made no sign. “They saw you?” he asked.

“Couldn’t help it,” Rathburn grumbled. “Took after me. I had to drop one of ’em with a bullet in the shoulder to slow ’em up in the long caÑon over on the other side.”

“Know any of the gang?” Price asked.

“Met one. Threw down my gun on him. He told me Mike Eagen was runnin’ the works.”

Price nodded. “I reckon Mike’s been pullin’ quite a few stunts while you been away.”

“An’ I’ve been gettin’ the blame for ’em more’n likely,” said Rathburn in indignation.

Price nodded again. “Might be so,” he commented.

Rathburn looked up at him in understanding. “They’ll have me mixed up with this stage holdup,” he said earnestly. “From what I gathered they killed the driver, an’ they’ll say that was my part.”

“That’s the trouble, boy,” said the old miner. “If a fellow’s handy with his gun somebody’s sure to get jealous of him an’ make him draw. If he gets his man because he has to, he’s a killer. When he’s known as a killer he ain’t got a chance. You had to drop the two men you dropped aroun’ here, boy; but they ain’t forgettin’ it.”

“Bob Long was headin’ that posse,” said Rathburn thoughtfully.

“An’ Bob Long’s a sticker when he hits out on a man’s trail,” said Price. “Still, I guess you’d be 191 safe in here for a while. There ain’t many knows this place.”

“I don’t figure on stayin’ here long, Joe,” said Rathburn.

“I didn’t think you did,” said Price.

“I’ll have to get goin’––hit for new country an’ never know when I may run up against the law in a quarter where I ain’t expecting it; always sneaking along––like the coyote. It was Mike Eagen who gave me that name, Joe.”

Rathburn’s voice was low and vibrant, and the old man felt the menacing quality in it.

“What’s more,” Rathburn went on, “I’m always remembering that he’s back here, getting away with his dirty tricks, shoving the blame off on me, some way or other, when the chase gets too hot.”

For some time the old man was silent. When he spoke he put an arm about Rathburn’s shoulder.

“Boy, before you get worse mixed up than you are, there’s a place you ought to visit aroun’ here,” he said in a fatherly tone.

Rathburn shrugged and stared up at the night sky which was blossoming with stars.

“It would be a right smart risk,” Price went on, “for they’d maybe think to drop aroun’ that way on a lookout for you; but I reckon before you do much more, you better drop in at the Mallory place.”

Rathburn rose abruptly. “I guess that’s what I came up here to hear you say,” he said irritably. “But I don’t reckon it can be done, Joe. I haven’t any business there.”

“How do you know, boy? Maybe you ain’t bein’ right fair.”

“Seems to me it would look better for me to stay away.”

“They don’t have to see you,” urged the old man. 192 “The Mallory place is a good fifteen miles from Hope, close up against the mountains. Boy, don’t you think you better make sure?”

The wistful, yearning look was back in Rathburn’s eyes. His right hand rested upon the butt of his gun. The other held his forgotten cigarette. He turned and looked into the old man’s eyes.

“Joe, you said something about takin’ something from the desert if I left it. You’re right. But it can’t be, Joe. This thing has killed my chances!”

The gun seemed to leap from its holster into his hand at his hip of its own accord. The old miner’s brows lifted in astonishment at the draw.

“If I was you I wouldn’t be much scared who I met on the way down to the Mallory place if I didn’t meet too many of ’em at once,” he said with a smile.

“I––I couldn’t wear it––there,” Rathburn faltered.

“Well, leave it hangin’ on a handy peg, boy,” said the old man cheerfully.

Rathburn jammed the gun back into its holster and walked around to his horse. He led the animal down to drink and then returned and saddled.

“You goin’ on to-night?” asked Price casually.

“I’m takin’ a ride,” Rathburn confessed.

“You ain’t takin’ my advice at the same time, are you?” asked Price, pretending to be greatly concerned.

Rathburn mounted and looked down upon him in the faint light of the stars.

“Joe Price, you’re a wise old desert rat, an’ I’m a young fool,” he said with a twinkle in his gray eyes. “If Bob Long happens this way give him my regards an’ tell him they got the reward notices over in California all right, for I saw ’em stuck up over there. So long.”

The old miner called out after him and watched him ride down the caÑon and disappear in the shadows. Nor was he the only watcher; for, high on the ridge above, another man touched his horse with his spurs and started down the west side of the range, as Rathburn vanished.