that welled from within him. "I was too kind--to those hounds."

He rode back and finished his night's work. War-mad, he sat his horse,
reeling in the saddle, and emptied his gun into the squirming wretches
as they sought to crawl under the car for protection.

Donna was terribly frightened, but she was the last woman in the world
to go into hysterics. She realized that she was saved, and accordingly
commenced to cry, while waiting for the horseman to reappear. A minute
passed and still he did not come, and suddenly, without quite realizing
what she was doing or why she did it, the girl went back to the scene
of the battle to look for him. She was not so badly frightened now, but
rather awed by the silence, Donna was desert-bred, and in all her life
she had never fainted. For a girl she was remarkably free from
"nerves," and she had lived too long in San Pasqual to faint now at
sight of the three still figures huddled between the ties, even had she
seen them; which, she had not. All that Donna saw was a roan range
pony, standing quietly with drooping head, while his master sprawled in
the saddle with his arms around his horse's neck. Donna went quickly to
him, and when the moon came out from behind a hurrying cloud she was
enabled, with the aid of the ghastly green glare from a switch lantern
which shone on his face, to observe that he was quite conscious and
looking at her with untroubled boyish eyes.

His hat was lying on the ground, securely anchored by the pony's left
fore foot. With rather unnatural calmness and following, subconsciously
perhaps, her acquired instinct for salving hats for the men of her
little world, Donna stooped, slapped the pony's leg to make him release
the hat and picked it up. She stood for a few seconds, with the hat in
her hand, looking at him pityingly. The man's brown eyes blazed with