Behind them, the outer cañon was empty of life save for the horse which Sidewinder had ridden, and which stood with legs wide apart, head drooping, exhausted and spent. Red and gold streaked across the sky, as the first fingers of sunrise reached up to the zenith. Presently the horse, still saddled and bridled, made a convulsive movement and came out from among the rocks, and stood, white with lather. He was still standing there twenty minutes later, when the first rays of sunlight struck down from the hilltops and smote all the desert spaces into gold and purple, and up on the hillside stirred something that presently took definite shape. This was Sagebrush Beam. The desert rat painfully gained his feet, staggered forward, lost his balance and came sprawling down among the rocks. He lay quiet for a while, blood spreading across the grizzled expanse of his tangled beard. Then, warmed by the sun, he lifted himself again, feebly gained his feet, and came tottering across the sand to where the horse stood watching him. For a little he clung to the saddle, helpless. After a time he made an effort to draw himself up, cursed vividly if weakly, and at the second effort made shift to mount. The exhausted horse submitted to its fate and started out into the desert, with Sagebrush limp and clinging to the pommel. CHAPTER X The three shacks at the head of Hourglass Cañon were set amid trees and near a trickling brook, which in another three weeks would be only a summer’s memory, and which was lost in the grass a hundred yards distant. Ramsay was allowed to sit against a tree, and was set free of his bonds, while his four captors surrounded him. The two frightened Mexican women, wretched creatures who belonged to Ximines and Cholo Bill, fetched coffee and tortillas. Ramsay had been studying his captors. Ximines was the most dangerous, because the most vicious and debased Cholo Bill was far above him in character. Tom Emery had some traces of humor in his brutal countenance. All three of them were distinctly perturbed and uneasy, yet deferred everything to Sidewinder. And Ramsay perceived that Crowfoot himself, beneath that grayish mask of a face, was more alarmed than he cared to betray. “Now, you going to talk or do we got to make ye?” demanded Sidewinder, his reptilian gaze fastened on Ramsay. The latter smiled slightly. “You give me a share in your breakfast and let me get my pipe going, and I’ll swap all the information you want.” “Fair enough,” grunted Sidewinder, and summoned one of the women. Ramsay found his tortillas excellent and the coffee passable, and attacked his breakfast heartily. His chief concern was for Sagebrush. The latter was either dead, in which case he could not be aided, or else was wounded, in which case he was better off without Sidewinder’s help; in either event, his participation in the morning’s affair was not suspected and must not be suspected. In all other respects, frank speech was the best policy.