Zeke finished bandaging the wound. Making a bed of blankets he lifted
Hare into it, and covered him, cautioning him to lie still. Hare had a
sensation of extreme lassitude, a deep drowsiness which permeated even to
his bones. There were intervals of oblivion, then a time when the stars
blinked in his eyes; he heard the wind, Silvermane's bell, the murmur of
voices, yet all seemed remote from him, intangible as things in a dream.

He rode home next day, drooping in the saddle and fainting at the end of
the trail, with the strong arm of August Naab upholding him. His wound
was dressed and he was put to bed, where he lay sleeping most of the
time, brooding the rest.

In three weeks he was in the saddle again, riding out over the red strip
of desert toward the range. During his convalescence he had learned that
he had come to the sombre line of choice. Either he must deliberately
back away, and show his unfitness to survive in the desert, or he must
step across into its dark wilds. The stern question haunted him. Yet he
knew a swift decision waited on the crucial moment.

He sought lonely rides more than ever, and, like Silvermane, he was
always watching and listening. His duties carried him half way to
Seeping Springs, across the valley to the red wall, up the slope of
Coconina far into the forest of stately pines. What with Silvermane's
wonderful scent and sight, and his own constant watchfulness, there were
never range-riders or wild horses nor even deer near him without his
knowledge.

The days flew by; spring had long since given place to summer; the blaze
of sun and blast of flying sand were succeeded by the cooling breezes
from the mountain; October brought the flurries of snow and November the