From that time forward Ladd gained, but he gained so immeasurably slowly that only the eyes of hope could have seen any improvement. Jim Lash threw away his crutch, and Thorne was well, if still somewhat weak, before Ladd could lift his arm or turn his head. A kind of long, immovable gloom passed, like a shadow, from his face. His whispers grew stronger. And the day arrived when Gale, who was perhaps the least optimistic, threw doubt to the winds and knew the ranger would get well. For Gale that joyous moment of realization was one in which he seemed to return to a former self long absent. He experienced an elevation of soul. He was suddenly overwhelmed with gratefulness, humility, awe. A gloomy black terror had passed by. He wanted to thank the faithful Mercedes, and Thorne for getting well, and the cheerful Lash, and Ladd himself, and that strange and wonderful Yaqui, now such a splendid figure. He thought of home and Nell. The terrible encompassing red slopes lost something of their fearsomeness, and there was a good spirit hovering near. "Boys, come round," called Ladd, in his low voice. "An' you, Mercedes. An' call the Yaqui." Ladd lay in the shade of the brush shelter that had been erected. His head was raised slightly on a pillow. There seemed little of him but long lean lines, and if it had not been for his keen, thoughtful, kindly eyes, his face would have resembled a death mask of a man starved. "Shore I want to know what day is it an' what month?" asked Ladd. Nobody could answer him. The question seemed a surprise to Gale, and evidently was so to the others. "Look at that cactus," went on Ladd. Near the wall of lava a stunted saguaro lifted its head. A few shriveled blossoms that had once been white hung along the fluted column. "I reckon according to that giant cactus it's somewheres along the end of March," said Jim Lash, soberly. "Shore it's April. Look where the sun is. An' can't you feel it's gettin' hot?" "Supposin' it is April?" queried Lash slowly. "Well, what I'm drivin' at is it's about time you all was hittin' the trail back to Forlorn River, before the waterholes dry out." "Laddy, I reckon we'll start soon as you're able to be put on a hoss." "Shore that 'll be too late." A silence ensued, in which those who heard Ladd gazed fixedly at him and then at one another. Lash uneasily shifted the position of his lame leg, and Gale saw him moisten his lips with his tongue. "Charlie Ladd, I ain't reckonin' you mean we're to ride off an' leave you here?"