quite。　　Three　men　were　in　sight；　all　close　to　the　burning　sticks。　　They　were　Mexicans　and　of　the　coarse　type　of　raiders；　rebels；　bandits　that　Gale　expected　to　see。　　One　stood　up；　his　back　to　the　fire；　another　sat　with　shoulders　enveloped　in　a　blanket；　and　the　third　lounged　in　the　sand；　his　feet　almost　in　the　blaze。　　They　had　cast　off　belts　and　weapons。　　A　glint　of　steel　caught　Gale's　eye。　　Three　short；　shiny　carbines　leaned　against　a　rock。　　A　little　to　the　left；　within　the　circle　of　light；　stood　a　square　house　made　of　adobe　bricks。　Several　untrimmed　poles　upheld　a　roof　of　brush；　which　was　partly　fallen　in。　　This　house　was　a　Papago　Indian　habitation；　and　a　month　before　had　been　occupied　by　a　family　that　had　been　murdered　or　driven　off　by　a　roving　band　of　outlaws。　　A　rude　corral　showed　dimly　in　the　edge　of　firelight；　and　from　a　black　mass　within　came　the　snort　and　stamp　and　whinney　of　horses。
  Gale　took　in　the　scene　in　one　quick　glance；　then　sank　down　at　the　foot　of　the　mesquite。　　He　had　naturally　expected　to　see　more　men。
  but　the　situation　was　by　no　means　new。　　This　was　one；　or　part　of　one；　of　the　raider　bands　harrying　the　border。　　They　were　stealing　horses；　or　driving　a　herd　already　stolen。　　These　bands　were　more　numerous　than　the　waterholes　of　northern　Sonora；　they　never　camped　long　at　one　place；　like　Arabs；　they　roamed　over　the　desert　all　the　way　from　Nogales　to　Casita。　　If　Gale　had　gone　peaceably　up　to　this　campfire　there　were　a　hundred　chances　that　the　raiders　would　kill　and　rob　him　to　one　chance　that　they　might　not。　　If　they　recognized　him　as　a　ranger　comrade　of　Ladd　and　Lash；　if　they　got　a　glimpse　of　Blanco　Sol；　then　Gale　would　have　no　chance。
  These　Mexicans　had　evidently　been　at　the　well　some　time。　　Their　horses　being　in　the　corral　meant　that　grazing　had　been　done　by　day。　　Gale　revolved　questions　in　mind。　　Had　this　trio　of　outlaws　run　across　Ladd？　　It　was　not　likely；　for　in　that　event　they　might　not　have　been　so　comfortable　and　care…free　in　camp。　　Were　they　waiting　for　more　members　of　their　gang？　　That　was　very　probable。　With　Gale；　however；　the　most　important　consideration　was　how　to　get　his　horse　to　water。　　Sol　must　have　a　drink　if　it　cost　a　fight。　There　was　stern　reason　for　Gale　to　hurry　eastward　along　the　trail。　He　thought　it　best　to　go　back　to　where　he　had　left　his　horse　and　not　make　any　decisive　move　until　daylight。
  With　the　same　noiseless　care　he　had　exercised　in　the　advance；　Gale　retreated　until　it　was　safe　for　him　to　rise　and　walk　on　down　the　arroyo。　　He　found　Blanco　Sol　contentedly　grazing。　　A　heavy　dew　was　falling；　and；　as　the　grass　was　abundant；　the　horse　did　not　show　the　usual　restlessness　and　distress　after　a　dry　and　exhausting　day。　Gale　carried　his　saddle　blankets　and　bags　into　the　lee　of　a　little　greasewood…covered　mound；　from　around　which　the　wind　had　cut　the　soil；　and　here；　in　a　wash；　he　risked　building　a　small　fire。　By　this　time　the　wind　was　piercingly　cold。　　Gale's　hands　were　numb　and　he　moved　them　to　and　fro　in　the　little　blaze。　　Then　he　made　coffee　in　a　cup　cooked　some　slices　of　bacon　on　the　end　of　a　stick；　and　took　a　couple　of　hard　biscuits　from　a　saddlebag。　　Of　these　his　meal　consisted。　　After　that　he　removed　the　halter　from　Blanco　Sol；　intending　to　leave　him　free　to　graze　for　a　while。
  Then　Gale　returned　to　his　little　fire；　replenished　it　with　short　sticks　of　dead　greasewood　and　mesquite；　and；　wrapping　his　blanket　round　his　shoulders　he　sat　down　to　warm　himself　and　to　wait　till　it　was　time　to　bring　in　the　horse　and　tie　him　up。
  The　fire　was　inadequate　and　Gale　was　cold　and　wet　with　dew。　Hunger　and　thirst　were　with　him。　　His　bones　ached；　and　there　was　a　dull；　deep…seated　pain　throbbing　in　his　unhealed　wound。　　For　days　unshaven；　his　beard　seemed　like　a　million　pricking　needles　in　his　blistered　skin。　　He　was　so　tired　that　once　having　settled　himself；　he　did　not　move　hand　or　foot。　　The　night　was　dark；　dismal；　cloudy；　windy；　growing　colder。　　A　moan　of　wind　in　the　mesquite　was　occasionally　pierced　by　the　high…keyed　yelp　of　a　coyote。　　There　were　lulls　in　which　the　silence　seemed　to　be　a　thing　of　stifling。　encroaching　substancea　thing　that　enveloped；　buried　the　desert。
  Judged　by　the　great　average　of　ideals　and　conventional　standards　of　life；　Dick　Gale　was　a　starved；　lonely；　suffering；　miserable　wretch。　　But　in　his　case　the　judgment　would　have　hit　only　externals；　would　have　missed　the　vital　inner　truth。　　For　Gale　was　happy　with　a　kind　of　strange；　wild　glory　in　the　privations；　the　pains；　the　perils；　and　the　silence　and　solitude　to　be　endured　on　this　desert　land。　In　the　past　he　had　not　been　of　any　use　to　himself　or　others；　and　he　had　never　know　what　it　meant　to　be　hungry；　cold；　tired；　lonely。　　He　had　never　worked　for　anything。　　The　needs　of　the　day　had　been　provided；　and　to…morrow　and　the　future　looked　the　same。　Danger；　peril；　toilthese　had　been　words　read　in　books　and　papers。
  In　the　present　he　used　his　hands；　his　senses；　and　his　wits。　　He　had　a　duty　to　a　man　who　relied　on　his　services。　　He　was　a　comrade；　a　friend；　a　valuable　ally　to　riding；　fighting　rangers。　　He　had　spend　endless　days；　weeks　that　seemed　years；　alone　with　a　horse；　trailing　over；　climbing　over；　hunting　over　a　desert　that　was　harsh　and　hostile　by　nature；　and　perilous　by　the　invasion　of　savage　men。　　That　horse　had　become　human　to　Gale。　　And　with　him　Gale　had　learned　to　know　the　simple　needs　of　existence。　　Like　dead　scales　the　superficialities；　the　falsities；　the　habits　that　had　once　meant　all　of　life　dropped　off；　useless　things　in　this　stern　waste　of　rock　and　sand。
  Gale's　happiness；　as　far　as　it　concerned　the　toil　and　strife；　was　perhaps　a　grim　and　stoical　one。　　But　love　abided　with　him；　and　it　had　engendered　and　fostered　other　undeveloped　traitsromance　and　a　feeling　for　beauty；　and　a　keen　observation　of　nature。　　He　felt　pain；　but　he　was　never　miserable。　　He　felt　the　solitude；　but　he　was　never　lonely。
  As　he　rode　across　the　desert；　even　though　keen　eyes　searched　for　the　moving　black　dots；　the　rising　puffs　of　white　dust　that　were　warnings；　he　saw　Nell's　face　in　every　cloud。　　The　clean…cut　mesas　took　on　the　shape　of　her　straight　profile；　with　its　strong　chin　and　lips；　its　fine　nose　and　forehead。　　There　was　always　a　glint　of　gold　or　touch　of　red　or　graceful　line　or　gleam　of　blue　to　remind　him　of　her。　　Then　at　night　her　face　shone　warm　and　glowing；　flushing　and　paling；　in　the　campfire。
  To…night；　as　usual；　with　a　keen　ear　to　the　wind；　Gale　listened　as　one　on　guard；　yet　he　watched　the　changing　phantom　of　a　sweet　face　in　the　embers；　and　as　he　watched　he　thought。　　The　desert　developed　and　multiplied　thought。　　A　thousand　sweet　faces　glowed　in　the　pink　and　white　ashes　of　his　campfire；　the　faces　of　other　sweethearts　or　wives　that　had　gleamed　for　other　men。　　Gale　was　happy　in　his　thought　of　Nell；　for　Nell；　for　something；　when　he　was　alone　this　way　in　the　wilderness；　told　him　she　was　near　him；　she　thought　of　him；　she　loved　him。　　But　there　were　many　men　alone　on　that　vast　southwestern　plateau；　and　when　they　saw　dream　faces；　surely　for　some　it　was　a　fleeting　flash；　a　gleam　soon　gone；　like　the　hope　and　the　name　and　the　happiness　that　had　been　and　was　now　no　more。　　Often　Gale　thought　of　those　hundreds　of　desert　travelers；　prospectors；　wanderers　who　had　ventured　down　the　Camino　del　Diablo；　never　to　be　heard　of　again。　　Belding　had　told　him　of　that　most　terrible　of　all　desert　trailsa　trail　of　shifting　sands。　　Lash　had　traversed　it；　and　brought　back　stories　of　buried　waterholes；　of　bones　bleaching　white　in　the　sun；　of　gold　mines　as　lost　as　were　the　prospectors　who　had　sought　them；　of　the　merciless　Yaqui　and　his　hatred　for　the　Mexican。　　Gale　thought　of　this　trail　and　the　men　who　had　camped　along　it。　　For　many　there　had　been　one　night；　one　campfire　that　had　been　the　last。　　This　idea　seemed　to　creep　in　out　of　the　darkness；　the　loneliness；　the　silence；　and　to　find　a　place　in　Gale's　mind；　so　that　it　had　strange　fascination　for　him。　He　knew　now　as　he　had　never　dreamed　before　how　men　drifted　into　the　desert；　leaving　behind　graves；　wrecked　homes；　ruined　lives；　lost　wives　and　sweethearts。　　And　for　every　wanderer　every　campfire　had　a　phantom　face。　　Gale　measured　the　agony　of　these　men　at　their　last　campfire　by　the　joy　and　promise　he　traced　in　the　ruddy　heart　of　his　own。
  By　and　by　Gale　remembered　what　he　was　waiting　for；　and；　getting　up；　he　took　the　halter　and　went　out　to　find　Blanco　Sol。　　It　was　pitch…dark　now；　and　Gale　could　not　see　a　rod　ahead。　　He　felt　his　way；　and　presently　as　he　rounded　a　mesquite　he　saw　Sol's　white　shape　outlined　against　the　blackness。　　The　horse　jumped　and　wheeled；　ready　to　run。　　It　was　doubtful　if　any　one　unknown　to　Sol　could　ever　have　caught　him。　　Gale's　low　call　reassured　him；　and　he　went　on　grazing。　　Gale　haltered　him　in　the　likeliest　patch　of　grass　and　returned　to　his　camp。　　There　he　lifted　his　saddle　into　a　protected　spot　under　a　low　wall　of　the　mound；　and；　laying　one　blanket　on　the　sand；　he　covered　himself　with　the　other　and　stretched　himself　for　the　night。
  Here　he　was　out　of　reach　of　the　wind；　but　he　heard　its　melancholy　moan　in　the　mesquite。　　There　was　no　other　sound。　　The　coyotes　had　ceased　their　hungry　cries。　　Gale　dropped　to　sleep；　and　slept　soundly　during　the　first　half　of　the　night；　and　after　that　he　seemed　always