canteens, and brought him back to life, but, alas! not to reason.

Six months later there limped out of Chihuahua hospital a
discharged patient, wry-necked, crook-backed, with drawn
features, and hair and beard streaked with gray. It was Dick
Lane, restored to old physical strength, so far as the distortion
of his spine, caused by his torture, permitted, and to the full
possession of his mental faculties. He mounted one of the
captured ponies, and rode off with the proceeds of the sales of
the others in his pocket, to purchase provisions for a return to
his prospecting.

Before plunging into the wilderness he wrote a letter:

Chihuahua, Mexico

"Mr. John Payson,
"Sweetwater Ranch,
"Florence, Arizona Territory, U.S.A.
"Dear Jack: I have been sick and out of my head in the hospital
here for the last six months. Just about the time you all were
expecting me home, I had a run in with the Apaches. And who do
you think was with them? Buck McKee, the half-breed that I ran
off the range two years ago for tongue-slitting. After I had
done for all the rest, he got me, and--well, the story's too long
to write. I rather think McKee has made off with the gold I had
cached just before the fight. I'm going back to see, and if he
did, I'll hustle around to find a buyer for one of my claims. I
don't want to sell my big mine, Jack. I tell you I struck it
rich!--but that story can wait till I get back. Your loan can't,