“Well,” said Judge resignedly, “I suppose that is what I get for playing Sancho Panza to an addle-pated Don Quixote. But I may assure you that these high-heel boots were never made for this sort of usage. We will never get out alive--unless somebody carries us out, Henry.” “I hope we are alive--when carried,” remarked Henry soberly. * * * * * They started ahead, crawling through brush, over rocks, keeping alert for rattlers, which abounded in Lobo Canyon. Henry was so stiff and sore that it was difficult for him to keep going. They rested often, but were making fair progress. They struck about a mile of fairly open traveling, but ran into another slide, which halted them for a while. “Isn’t there another way to get into this canyon, Henry?” Judge panted. Henry sprawled on top of a rock to get his breath, nodded and rubbed a sore elbow. “I’ve heard there is, Judge. Somewhere near the upper end, but I don’t know just where.” Judge took off a boot and examined his sore toes. It was very quiet down there. Finally Judge said: “Henry, we’re two old fools! We ruin ourselves, trying to get in here to find the body of a dead man. Suppose we do find him--we can’t carry him out. Why, we will be lucky to get out ourselves.” Henry sprawled on the rock, looking up at a circling buzzard, far up in the blue sky. “Two old fools,” he said slowly. “That’s right, Judge. Fighting to keep a job, getting all busted up physically. This is a young man’s job, Judge. Maybe Pete Gonyer--who knows?” “Pete must be forty.” “A mere child, Judge. Well, we must be going on. It is noon. At this rate, we will fight our way out in the dark.” “But about taking the body out, Henry.” “The first thing to do is to find the body, Judge. Come on.” They went on, circling, crawling, tearing their way through the brush. Circling a pot-hole in the bottom of the canyon, they reached a steep slope, reaching up into more rocks and more brush. Judge was ahead, hunched over, clawing his way up, when Henry saw the head and shoulders of a man ahead of his deputy. Henry reached for his bolstered gun, when his feet slipped and he dropped to his knees on the slope. The gun slipped out of his hand, and before he could recover it, he heard a voice snap: “All right--come on up--and keep yore hands in sight!” Henry managed to straighten up. Judge was above him, hands up above his shoulders. There were two men now, and one of them had a gun pointed at Henry. Taking a deep breath, Henry managed to negotiate the slope. Judge sank down on a rock, panting heavily. One of the men yanked the gun from Judge’s holster, and came to Henry to disarm him. “Where’s yore gun?” he asked sharply. “I--I lost it,” panted Henry. “Let me sit down--please.” There were two men, both masked, watching Henry and Judge. “What are you two doin’ here in the canyon?” asked one of them. “We are on an errand of mercy,” replied Henry painfully. “Yeah? What do yuh mean?”