his head on the saddle, he lay gazing up at the stars.

The horses, with the exception of Waring's buckskin Dex, huddled in one
corner of the corral. That strange shape stretched quietly on the ground
was new to them.

For a long time the horse Dex stood with head lowered and one hip sagged
as he rested. Just before Waring slept he felt a gentle nosing of his
blankets. The big horse sniffed curiously.

"Strange blankets, eh?" queried Waring drowsily. "But it's the same old
partner, Dex."

The horse walked slowly away, nosing along the fence. Waring knew that
he was well sentineled. The big buckskin would resent the approach of a
stranger by snorting. Waring turned on his side and slept. His day's
work was done.




CHAPTER III


_Donovan's Hand_

Waring was up with the first faint streak of dawn. He threw hay to the
horses and strode briskly to the adobe. Juan Armigo was bending over the
kitchen stove. Waring nodded to him and stepped to the next room. The
Mexicans were asleep; young Ramon lying face down beneath the crucifix