which nearly broke his neck when he had climbed halfway up.
Never before had he been compelled to measure so exactly his
breadth and thickness. It was drawing matters down rather fine
when he was compelled to back down to where he had elbow room,
and remove his coat before he could squeeze his body through that
crack. But he did it, with his six-shooter inside his shirt and
the extra ammunition weighting his trousers pockets.

In spite of his long experience with desert scenery, Casey was
somewhat astonished to find himself in a new land, fairly level
and with thick groves of pinon cedar and juniper trees scattered
here and there. Far away stood other barren hills with deep
canyons between. He knew now that the black-capped butte was
less a butte than the uptilted nose of a high plateau not half so
barren as the lower country. From the pointing Joshua tree it
had seemed a peak, but contours are never so deceptive as in the
high, broken barrens of Nevada.

He looked down into the gulch where Barney was holed up with
their outfit. He could scarcely distinguish the place, it had
dwindled so with the distance. He had small hope of seeing
Barney. After that last leaden bee had buzzed through his hat
crown, you would have to dig faster than Barney if you wanted a
look at him. Casey grinned when he thought of it.

When he had gotten his breath and had scraped some loose dirt out
of his shirt collar, Casey crouched down behind a juniper and
examined his surroundings carefully, his pale, straight-lidded
eyes moving slowly as the white, pointing finger of a searchlight
while he took in every small detail within view. Midway in the