life or both of ours--worse than that--a thousand times worse."

Endicott was silent as the two turned toward the plateau. "Why,
there's Bat's horse, trotting over to join the others, and unsaddled,
too," cried Alice. "He has beaten Tex to camp. Bat is a dear, and he
just adores the ground Tex walks on, or 'rides on' would be more
appropriate, for I don't think he ever walked more than a hundred feet
in his life."

Sure enough, when they reached camp there sat the half-breed placidly
mending a blanket, with the bored air of one upon whom time hangs
heavily. He looked up as Endicott greeted him.

"Mebbe-so dat better you don' say nuttin' 'bout A'm gon' 'way from
here," he grinned. "Tex she com' 'long pret' queek, now. Mebbe-so he
t'ink dat better A'm stay roun' de camp. But _Voila_! How A'm know he
ain' gon for git hurt?"

"But he did--" Alice paused abruptly with the sentences unfinished,
for the sound of galloping hoofs reached her ears and she looked up to
see the Texan swing from his horse, strip off the saddle and bridle and
turn the animal loose.

"Oh," she cried, as the man joined them after spreading his saddle
blanket to dry. "Your eyes are swollen almost shut and your lip is
bleeding!"

"Yes," answered the cowboy with a contortion of the stiff, swollen lip
that passed for a smile. "I rounded the bend in a coulee down yonder
an' run plumb against a hard projection."