"Look here, Harlan," he finally said; "you're considered to be a hell-raiser yourself, but I can see in your eyes that you ain't takin' advantage of women. An' Harlan"--Morgan's voice quavered--"there's my little Barbara all alone to take care of herself with that gang of wolves around. I'm wantin' you to go to the Rancho Seco an' look around. My wife died last year. There's mebbe two or three guys around the ranch would stick to Barbara, but that's all. Take a look at John Haydon, an' if you think he's on the level--an' you want to drift on--turn things over to him." Morgan shuddered, and was silent for a time, his lips tight-shut, his face whitening in the dusk as he fought the pain that racked him. When he at last spoke again his voice was so weak that Harlan had to kneel and lean close to him to hear the low-spoken words that issued from between his quavering lips: "Harlan--you're white; you've got to be white--to Barbara! That paper I was tryin' to stuff into my gun--when you come around the rock. You take it. It'll tell you where the gold is. You'll find my will--in my desk in my office--off the _patio_. Everything goes to Barbara. Everybody knows that. Haydon knows it--Deveny's found it out. You can't get me back--it's too far. Plant me here--an' tell Barbara." He laughed hollowly. "I reckon that's all." He felt for one of Harlan's hands, found it, and gripped it with all his remaining strength. His voice was hoarse, quavering: "You won't refuse, Harlan? You can't refuse! Why, my little Barbara will be all alone, man! What a damned fool I've been not to look out for her!" Night had come, and Morgan could not see Harlan's face. But he was conscious of the firm grip of Harlan's hands, and he laughed lowly and thankfully. "You'll do it--for Barbara--won't you? Say you will, man! Let me hear you say it--now!" "I'm givin' you my word," returned Harlan slowly. And now he leaned still closer to the dying man and whispered long to him. When he concluded Morgan fought hard to raise himself to a sitting posture; he strained, dragging himself in the sand in an effort to see Harlan's face. But the black desert night had settled over them, and all Morgan could see of Harlan was the dim outlines of his head. "Say it again, man! Say it again, an' light a match so's I can see you while you're sayin' it!" There was a pause. Then a match flared its light revealing Harlan's face, set in serious lines. "I wouldn't lie to you--now--Morgan," he said; "I'm goin' to the Lamo country to bust up Deveny's gang." Morgan stared hard at the other while the flickering light lasted with a strained intensity that transfigured his face, suffusing it with a glow that could not have been more eloquent with happiness had the supreme Master of the universe drawn back the mysterious veil of life to permit him to look upon the great secret.